


Show me your scars

by Thatswherethelightgetsin



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Romance, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, drugs taking, this is nathan barley people, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatswherethelightgetsin/pseuds/Thatswherethelightgetsin
Summary: Dan wakes after the window fall. Jones is there. And so is Berlin. Maybe.





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is hard going in the early chapters, but there was some serious work needed to sort out the human wreck that is Dan Ashcroft. I hope you can stick with him.
> 
> Comments are so loved and appreciated, so let me know what you think.

There was a stain on the wall. Dan noticed it a couple of hours after waking up. Properly waking up, free from the pleasant haze of drugs and confusion about what was happening. His body was broken. Smashed like that time he and Claire had dropped his mother’s china doll from their bedroom window. The pain was distant, though, an almost pleasant counterbalance to the grey static in his head. His limbs throbbed gently in their casts, but he felt so removed from them that they may as well have belonged to someone else. Maybe they weren’t even in there. Perhaps they’d had to amputate and just didn’t want to tell him. Perhaps what he was feeling was just a phantom pain. That happened sometimes he’d heard; people feeling pain from limbs long since lost. He should probably feel something about the thought. But he didn’t.

 

He wanted to feel something about Nathan Barley being at his side constantly, smugly waving his contract and explaining how epic it was going to be to work together. He should feel something. He remembered the rage, like a dream he was struggling to recall hours after waking up.

 

Instead he stared at the stain on the wall blankly. People kept asking how he felt, if he needed more drugs, but he didn’t answer. He looked at the stain and waited for them to leave. Claire came later to shout something at him. He heard the words dimly.

 

“They’re going to lock you up,” Jones said. His voice was flat, almost amused if there was any emotion in it. He wondered why he was even there. It wasn’t like they were really friends. They just shared the same flat. “They think you’ve gone wrong in the head. Like maybe you jumped outta that window to end it all.”

 

That made Dan look at him, wondering if he agreed. Not that it mattered, really, but it was the first thing that had made him want to turn his head in days.

 

Jones grinned at him. “I know you didn’t,” he said. “If you wanted to be gone you wouldn’t have done it in front of people. You’d just… be gone.”

 

Dan turned back to the stain, not bothering to answer. Jones drifted away, but Dan made sure to answer the doctors when they came from then on.

 

Claire and his parents were there the day he was discharged.

 

“Dan,” his mother said, hovering by his side, “we can’t take you back to that place.”

 

“I don’t have money for somewhere else,” he muttered, looking at the cast on his arm. Nathan had signed it the last time he was there. He wondered how long it would take for him to rip it off and burn it.

 

“Well,” his mother said softly. “I’m sure we can-”

 

“It’s fine,” he snapped. “There aren’t any steps in the flat and Claire’s there-”

 

“Claire moved out,” Claire sighed from behind him. “Unlike you, Claire has been earning money for months and can pay for a decent flat.”

 

Dan didn’t say anything to that. There was no point, and besides, he was pleased for her. She deserved to be able to afford a flat with real heating and a washing machine they hadn’t found on the street once. She certainly deserved to be away from her cripple brother and his crazy housemate.

 

His mother fussed over him on the taxi ride home, but he ignored her, staring out at the rain-wet streets of London. His father sat silent and still in the front seat next to the driver. Dan very carefully avoided wondering what he might be thinking. In the end Claire convinced them to drop Dan off and go to her new place for dinner rather than staying to make sure Dan ‘settled in’. He shot her a thankful look but she just shook her head at him. He didn't know what that meant, but then he didn’t want to. He turned back to the window and stared out until they reached his building.

 

Claire helped him into the flat, her hand firm on his arm. “You could try with them, you know,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “You’re the bloody golden boy. They’d give you the money to get another flat.”

 

“I don’t want one,” he snapped. “I just want to be left alone.”

 

“By all means,” she said, the temperature of her voice dropping. She sighed and tucked some stray hair behind her ear before schooling her features so she could try again. “Dan, I know… I know this isn’t going to be easy for you. But, Nathan-”

 

“Don’t,” he said, his voice flat and hard. There was a momentary spark of something, almost like a remembered emotion, but it was gone immediately. It left him feeling tired.

 

“He’s an idiot, but it’s a decent paying job and he adores you. God knows why, but if you just-” Her hand was starting to pinch on his arm where she was holding him.

 

“Are you living with him?” They were through the door now. It looked just as he remembered it: cold and somehow messy even though they didn’t actually own anything.

 

“No,” she snapped, dropping his bag at his feet. He turned to look at her and she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor. “He’s my housemate. But that’s all. It’s a nice place and the rent is really reasonable.”

 

Dan knew why that was, Nathan would be expecting payment in other forms. He closed his eyes. “The taxi’s waiting,” he said.

 

“Do you have your medication?” she asked. Her voice very nearly made it seem like she still cared. He fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable. She sighed. “Don’t take them with booze, okay? It’ll shred your liver but you won’t die.”

 

Dan blinked at her. Did she think he’d been trying to off himself too? He couldn’t tell. They’d both perfected a carefully neutral stare from growing up with their father. He swallowed and looked away. She lingered in the doorway for a moment before reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. He held himself tight and rigid until she removed it and left.

 

It was silent after she was gone. He strained to make out the sound of the taxi pulling away, but he couldn’t hear anything. He was tired. A lathargary draped itself over his entire being. It was a long way to his bedroom, but the sofa in the livingroom seemed manageable to reach. He picked up his bag and limped to it. He landed too hard when he sat down because he couldn’t bend his left knee and it sent tendrils of sharp pain down his leg and arm. He hissed and closed his eyes until it dulled back to the gentle throb of pain that he was used to.

 

There wasn’t much in his bag. Claire had stuffed a few clothes and the minimal wash-kit he owned into it. His drugs were sitting in a crumpled, white paper bag on top. He pulled them out and stared at the little plastic bottles. Claire was right. They hadn’t given him enough to kill him, but there was probably enough to knock him out for a little while. He sighed and ran a thumb over the tiny writing. It would be nice not to be awake for awhile. Maybe a few years. A decade. He used his thumb to carefully prise open one of the bottles. A heap of small, white pills seemed to stare back up at him. He watched them for a long time, his hand clasped tightly around the other bottle. The shadows started to grow around him in the flat.

 

He barely noticed the door open, but he looked up when someone spoke, their voice high-pitched with surprise. “Bloody hell, you’re back,” Jones said, his key still in his hand as he looked at him.

 

Dan didn’t respond. He looked back down at the pills. It was too dark to make them out now, but he could still picture them clearly. He could hear Jones moving around the confined space of the flat, but he didn’t say anything else. So he was surprised when the sofa dipped and Jones leant over into his personal space.

  
“Them the drugs they let you have?”

 

Dan didn’t answer. He wondered when Jones would leave again but couldn’t find it in himself to care much about the answer.

 

“Bet they’re just paracetamol, wouldn’t give you much more than that if they think you’re gonna top yourself. Probably not even Codeine.”

 

Dan turned to look him. Jones’ hair was different, he realised. The red was gone. His hair was completely black now. He wondered when that had happened. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

 

Jones blinked at him. “Like what?”

 

“About me killing myself. What if I actually do?”

 

It would have been enough to make anyone else look away, drop the subject and perhaps even leave the room entirely. Jones just managed to open his eyes even wider. “Are you going to?”

 

Dan closed the bottle. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

 

“Oh,” Jones said. “Good.”

 

There wasn’t anything to say to that, so he didn’t speak again. Jones sat next to him for awhile, surprisingly quiet, but never quite still. He fidgeted with his hair and jiggled his leg. Perhaps he was dancing to some tune only he could hear. Dan stared ahead until his eyes started to feel too heavy to keep open. He didn’t realise he was going to fall asleep, but somewhere between one slow blink and the next he did.

 

\----

 

He woke with a start and no idea how long he’d been asleep. There was no one else in the room with him. He was hungry and thirsty, but the fridge and sink seemed too far away. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but his arm and leg were hurting too much, so he hung, suspended between sleep and consciousness for what felt like hours. He was only aware of how tired he was and the throbbing pain in his limbs, there didn’t seem to be room for any other thoughts, which he was thankful for. He didn’t want to think what might come next.

 

The door opened some time later and Claire appeared in the livingroom carrying bags of shopping and frowning at him. “Have you been there since I left?”

 

Dan rubbed his eyes and tried to decide how to answer. There didn’t seem much point in lying when she’d see straight through it.

 

“Mum insisted on doing some shopping before she left. She asked you to call her tonight.”

 

Dan listened to her empty the bags into the fridge and cupboards. He felt fuzzy, like he might still be asleep.

 

Claire appeared again in the doorway to stare at him. “Are you listening?”

 

“Yeah, call mum, got it.” He stared back her. Two could play at the staring game. He was good at it. She was one of the few people he didn’t mind holding eye contact with. Sometimes he remembered what it was like when she looked up at him, eyes wide and excited, drinking in everything he said. Like it was worth hearing.

 

She looked away first. He didn’t even feel a little thrill of victory. “Do you need anything?”

 

There was a long list but he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted to say out loud. “Better get back to Nathan,” he said instead.

 

“Fuck you, Dan,” she said. Then she was gone.

 

He stared at the closed door for a long time until he was forced to drag himself to his feet. The shooting pain down his leg was agony and he cried out as he tried to use his right arm to push himself to his feet. He fell back against the sofa panting and wishing he could smash something. Perhaps his other arm. Instead he took a few deep breaths and tried again, it seemed to take an age before he was unsteadily on his feet, but then at the least the walk to the bathroom didn’t seem quite so impossible.

 

He got something to drink - there was no alcohol anywhere in the flat he noted - and some food before shuffling back to the sofa. He felt exhausted but the grey static was filling his head again, so he didn’t try and sleep. Instead, he looked down at his cast, at Nathan’s signature, and began to slowly try and prise it off his arm. He didn’t get very far, but he liked looking at the tattered end of it. He fell asleep with his hand still on the small tear he’d managed to make.

 

\----

 

Jones was next to him again when he woke up. He was wearing different clothes from the last time he’d seen him and his hair was wet. Dan hadn’t ever seen him with wet hair before. It made him look young and smaller somehow. He was leaning into Dan’s personal space. There were felt tip pens scattered around them and Jones was staring intently down at the cast on Dan’s arm.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, his voice rough from sleep and lack of use. Probably dehydration too.

 

Jones didn’t startle like he hoped he would. He just shrugged, a little frown of concentration on his face. “Just some art,” he replied easily. There was silence apart from the soft scratch of the pen for a few more moments before he pulled back and grinned. “Done.”

 

Dan was still staring at him in confusion, trying to decide if he ought to be annoyed. But Jones ignored him, standing to collect up the pens before leaving the room. When Dan looked down at his arm he realised Nathan’s signature had been covered with a drawing of a typewriter and what might have been a monkey head. He sighed, but the urge to rip it from his arm had dimmed.

 

\----

 

There was a shrill ringing from the side of the sofa. It had been making the noise off and on all morning. He slowly reached out a hand to look at the screen of his phone. _“Twat”_ flashed rhythmically back at him. He threw it as far as he could. It shattered into several pieces on the other side of the room. He went back to staring at the far wall.

 

\-----

 

“You are well minging,” Jones announced the next time Dan was awake to find him in the living room. “And I can’t mostly smell anything on account of all the dry ice I inhale.”

 

Dan looked up at him. It took a long time for his words to filter through the static in his head. He finally managed to grasp at their meaning and scowl in response. “I can’t shower,” he said. “I’m not allowed to get the casts wet.”

 

Jones stared at him. “You want me to wrap them in some bin bags?”

 

“No,” Dan said flatly.

 

“Come on,” he said, like Dan hadn’t spoken, “I reckon I can make them completely watertight with some gaffer tape. Then I’ll rip it off after; you’ll like that. Like self-harm only-”

 

“Only you’ll be doing it?” Dan finished. Only Jones would think it was appropriate to joke about self-harm to someone who was apparently a suicide risk.

 

“Yeah, bet you scream when I do it.” He was already rooting around in draws and Dan sat impassively watching him.

 

He didn’t have the energy to argue. A shower would probably be nice. He hadn’t been off the sofa in days. Jones had thrown his duvet at him when Dan refused to go to bed and so there really wasn’t any need to move. The effort seemed too much when he considered it.

 

Jones laughed all the way through taping his limbs into the plastic bags. “You’re going to be a binbag Mummy!” he said. He didn’t look up and apparently didn’t expect Dan to answer, so he didn’t.

 

Dan blinked down at him, Jones had insisted that he take off his jeans and jumper before he started. He felt exposed but Jones didn’t seem to notice either his discomfort or bare skin. Dan watched him and wondered about what that meant. He’d never seen Jones bring anyone home. He’d never considered Jones proclivities when it came to sex before. Or, actually, at all. Jones had just always been there, since Dan moved into the flat because he knew another writer that lived there. The writer had moved out quickly, got some respectable job and left Dan to take over his room. Him and Jones had been orbiting around the space and each other ever since. He’d grown used to his presence, his music and excitable energy. But he couldn’t remember them ever really talking before. They must have. Did he even know Jones’ first name? Now didn’t seem the right time to ask, mostly naked with Jones’ hands all over his skin.

 

Jones looked up at him. He had blue eyes. Really blue, and really big. Had he known that before? There was a clarity to the image of Jones, knelt at his feet, that he wasn’t sure he’d experienced before. Perhaps because this was the longest he’d been sober for months. Years. He hadn’t drunk since he jumped. Just a few weeks, but it was like his senses were waking up.

 

It was awful.

 

Mostly it was awful. But Jones’ eyes were very blue and he’d never noticed that before. That was probably an important realisation. But he couldn’t reach for why that was. He blinked again unable to think of what he wanted to say.

 

“You need to help standing up?” Jones asked, apparently oblivious to Dan’s internal turmoil. He didn’t wait for an answer, just stood and offered a hand to him.

 

Dan let himself be pulled to his feet. Pain lanced through his leg and arm and he hissed in pain.

 

“You taking your drugs?” Jones asked, tugging him towards the bathroom.

 

He shook his head. He’d got sick of staring at the bottles and thrown them across the room. He’d considered getting up so he could take both bottles all at once a few times as he’d lay on of sofa. The thought terrified him.

 

Jones nodded. “I can get you some aspirin and leave you a couple when I head out in the mornings.”

 

“Why?” Dan asked, turning his head to look at him. It was the question that had kept coming to him dimly over the last few weeks. Jones bringing him food, or getting his duvet or covering Nathan’s signature. He couldn’t understand it. Jones had never asked for anything from Dan and certainly hadn’t gotten anything. They weren’t even friends. Not that Dan had friends. Not for years. But then, now he thought about it, Jones didn’t seem to have that many friends either. He worked and he partied and he was on the scene but he didn’t talk about anyone with any particular regularity.

 

Jones looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Because you need to start walking around or the sofa will swallow you up. I saw a film about that once. This guy’s chair just up and ate him. I don’t wanna come home to that. But I know it’s hard to move around when it hurts.”

 

That wasn’t what he meant. But he didn’t have the words to form a more coherent question. He was so tired. He just wanted the shower to be over so he could be alone again. “Okay,” he said.

 

“Right,” Jones said, propping Dan on the wall and turning on the shower. “You want help getting in?”

 

Dan shook his head.

 

“Okay,” Jones said, but he still grabbed a flannel and held it under the spray. Once it was wet he poured on some of his own shower gel. Dan hadn’t owned any since he realised Jones had an endless supply. He might have expected it to smell of flowers but it was minty. “You might want to sort of not get all the way in,” Jones said frowning. “The covers will help, but I don’t know if they’ll withstand this watery onslaught.”

 

Dan’s mouth almost quirked at the turn of phrase but he didn’t answer.

 

“Right,” Jones said, shrugging. “See you, Dan. Don’t fall over in here and drown, okay? I’m heading out and won’t be back for ages.”

 

He was gone before Dan could think of anything to say. The shower was uncomfortable and too hot. He felt queasy when he was finished and his skin tingled almost unpleasantly where he’d rubbed the soap into it. But, it was nice too. The sting was a nice counterbalance to the static in his head.

 

He used the closest towel to dry himself off. The tape Jones had used ripped out the hairs on his arm and leg when he pulled off the bags, but at least the casts were mostly dry. He sniffed his clothes and decided they’d probably be better off burnt than back on him. He left them piled on the bathroom floor and hobbled toward his bedroom.

 

It felt cold and empty. The smashed pieces of Claire’s laptop lay on the floor near his bed. It looked like something from someone else’s life. Someone who had perhaps died suddenly and not been found for weeks and weeks. He felt like a grave robber as he took some clothes from the draws and pulled them on. By the time he was safely back on the sofa, he was exhausted. Everything hurt, a low-level throb of agony that beat in time with his heart. He closed his eyes.  
  
\----  
  
Jones did take to leaving him painkillers on his way out. Dan dry swallowed them and tried to imagine they dimmed the pain in his limbs. He started dragging himself from the sofa, just so he could shuffle around the room. It was awful, how much it hurt, but it made him feel like something was actually happening during the endless hours of the day. It was small and pitiful, but Jones would always joke about the signs that Dan had been moving around the flat when he was home. Dan mostly ignored him, but the idea that he was leaving a mark on the world, even if it was unwashed plates, was oddly reassuring.

 

“Found this for you outside,” Jones said one morning, a couple of weeks later. Or it might have been the afternoon, he was never sure anymore. Time seemed to be moving strangely. Ten minutes would crawl by like it would never end, but then other times Jones would disappear and reappear in the matter of moments, claiming it had been hours.  
  
He didn’t attempt to catch the box as Jones tossed it gently onto the sofa with him. It was heavy where it landed on his lap and he grunted in pain. Jones didn’t seem to notice as he wandered away into the kitchen. He opened the package slowly, his arm not wanting to cooperate as he pulled the casing away. It was a new Mac laptop. He didn’t bother to read the note inside. It was obvious who it was from. He wondered what would happen to it if he threw it out of the window, if it would smash into satisfying pieces or still look fine from the outside but be all broken and dead inside.  
  
“Guess he wants you back at work,” Jones mused from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe.  
  
Dan looked up at him but didn’t know what to say to that. “Do you want it?”  
  
“You don’t?” Jones didn’t look surprised, just mildly interested. “Won’t you need it for work?”  
  
Dan shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t imagine writing anything. He couldn’t imagine caring about anything enough, having the energy to even work out how the damn thing worked. There was a long silence where Dan stared at the box and tried to summon up the will to do something. He didn’t know what to say. He felt strangely exposed, more naked than when Jones was helping him shower. “Why are you here?” he snapped in the end.

 

“I live here,” Jones said. Dan looked up and saw for a moment saw a hint of something just below the surface that he hadn’t before. There was a flash of steel behind Jones’ eyes. A look that clearly said he wasn’t going to take any crap. It made sense, you didn’t grow up in London and dress like he did without learning how to stand up for yourself when the time came. The look was gone almost immediately but Dan felt almost winded by it, reminded again that he knew next to nothing about his housemate. Jones grinned suddenly. “I like you, Dan. You’re funny and your writing’s good when you want it to be. I don’t mean nothing by asking questions.”

 

He wanted to scowl and say something awful in response but he didn’t. He didn’t even know Jones had read his stuff. He didn’t know he could read. He wondered which columns he’d read and then was annoyed that he cared.

 

“You should come to Berlin with me,” he continued, like it was part of their conversation and not an invitation from nowhere. “I got offered a massive gig out there - and a few months residency at Tresor. I reckon you shouldn’t be on your own in this shithole and the change would do you some good. Just while you’re still healing up.”

 

There were a lot of answers to that. “I can’t afford to go to Germany,” was what came out. It didn’t seem right. It suggested that he might want to go for one thing. Which he certainly didn’t. Not with Jones. Or at all. He’d never left England. Not even to Wales or Scotland.

 

“Then get Nathan to pay for it,” Jones said with a shrug. “He can afford it. Just tell him it’s the new cool place to be. He laps up everything you say anyway.”

 

Dan didn’t like the idea of Berlin. But he did like the idea of making Barley pay for him to go on holiday. That didn’t not make it a terrible plan, though. The idea of leaving London filled him with a sort of rootless panic. It wasn’t that he didn’t hated it, its grey streets and dog shit and stupid people with stupider haircuts. But he knew it. He almost understood it. The thought of leaving made his palms sweaty. Made him want a drink.

 

Jones fixed him with an impassive stare. “Up to you,” he said with a little shrug. “I’m leaving at the end of the month.”

 

That was probably what did it. Jones’ little shrug that said he didn’t think Dan would ever do it. He sat still and silent until Jones left. Then he limped over to the other side of the room and found the various parts of his phone which were still scattered across the floor. He put them carefully back together. To his great surprise it worked when he turned it on. He typed out a message to Nathan.

 

_“Idea for my first piece. Have to go to Berlin. Need £300.”_

 

\-----

 

He realised he didn’t have a passport the day after Nathan had dutifully offered up the money. He sat on the sofa for a few moments, contemplating, as the idea of getting away from London slowly drifted away. It was probably a stupid idea anyway. It wasn’t like he knew what he was going to do when he was out there. Follow Jones around while he played at a stupid club that he’d hate? He didn’t even speak the language. It was stupid. He was stupid for even considering it. But the thought of leaving London had been, just briefly, a little break in the dark, a pinprick of light that something might actually change. That he might be able to get out of his head, away from the static and grey misery of London. He balled his hands into fists and stared at the wall.

 

Later, he hobbled out and bought something to drink with his lunch. It hadn’t occurred to him since waking up, but a drink seemed like exactly what he wanted; a way not to think for a few hours.

 

He woke the next morning with a hangover so horrific he wondered for a moment if he might just die. Instead he threw up for the rest of the day. Jones found him asleep on the bathroom floor and helped him back to the sofa.

 

“Nathan’s sorting your passport,” he said, as he passed him a glass of water. “Apparently Berlin is well banging.”

 

Dan squinted at him. He wanted to form a question, but he felt small and furious and the words wouldn’t come.

 

“You text him,” Jones said, apparently answering the question anyway. “He came by earlier, but I told him you were out.”

 

A wave of gratitude washed over him followed by a sort of embarrassed resentment. Jones wasn’t actually his mother. Why was he acting like he was? He shrugged, not sure what he wanted to convey, but definitely wanting the conversation to be over. Jones watched him for a few moments, huge eyes focused. Dan wondered what he was thinking before closing his own eyes and lying down on the sofa.

 

Jones went to his decks and played until Dan fell into a fitful sleep.

 

——-

 

Claire came round to help him to the hospital. He was finally getting his casts off. That meant it must have been eight weeks since he’d been discharged. The thought made him feel anxious, although he couldn’t pinpoint why that was. It certainly didn’t seem that long. Or maybe it felt much, much longer. He wasn’t sure.

 

“We can get you a passport photo on the way back,” she said, her voice hard, as she helped him into the taxi.

 

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as the taxi rumbled into life and merged into the slow moving traffic. He wondered what she was thinking. “You jealous Nathan’s not sending you on holiday?” he asked, trying to keep his voice mild.

 

She huffed. “I don’t need to run away from my life, Dan.” Then she apparently felt bad, because her face softened. “But, it might be good for you to get out of London for a bit.”

 

“Can’t be worse than this hellscape,” he said, gesturing to the poster for the latest issue of Sugar Ape. It featured a countdown of the best celebrity deaths.

 

She smiled at that.

 

He hated the photos when they finally whirled out of the booth at Tesco. He scowled down at them. He looked old and tired; pale and sad. He needed a haircut too, but he firmly pushed the idea away. He was about the throw them away, resolved to get some more or perhaps not bother at all, but Claire snatched them out of his hand.

 

“I’ll get them sent off,” she said. The look she gave him was caught somewhere between frustration and sympathy. He didn’t like it.

 

——

 

His passport arrived a couple of days before they were set to leave. He grinned and chucked it into his backpack, that he hadn’t so much packed as he had not unpacked since Claire brought him some things to the hospital.

 

He left it for as long as he could, but finally, the day before they were due to fly out, he forced himself into the Trashbat offices to pick up his plane ticket. He hadn’t seen Nathan since the hospital. The thought made him feel almost angry, which was still a nice change from the gaping blankness of the days after he woke up. Perhaps things were looking up after all.

 

His leg was aching by the time he climbed the stairs to the new office; it was still in an old warehouse but Nathan was probably paying a lot more for it to look like an abandoned crack den than he was before. He scowled at the graffiti-style logos sprayed on the walls.

 

Dan tried to speak as little as possible as Nathan babbled about the new offices and all the shit he was pumping out on a daily basis for his new show. He stood still, staring blankly ahead, waiting for him to finish. He startled when Nathan shoved a box into his hands suddenly.

 

“Here,” Nathan said, with a grin, “take this with you. Make sure you get plenty of footage. People wanna see the Preacher Man in Berlin.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped, leaning back out of Nathan’s range as he tried to throw an arm around his shoulders.

 

“We’re a multimedia now,” Nathan said. “It’s all about the second screen experience.”

 

Dan blinked at him, wondering if, given how high this office was, Nathan would die from being pushed out of the window. “I’m a writer,” he said in the end because Nathan just grinned inanely at him.

 

“No one’s just a writer now,” Ned piped up from his desk on the other side of the room. “It’s all about being a writer slash presenter slash performance artist. People want to see who’s producing the content.”

 

Dan had so far been trying to ignore that he was there. Nathan seemed determined to gather up all of the biggest idiots in London so he could house them neatly together in one utterly loathsome office.

 

“Yeah,” Nathan said with a shrug. “People are growing their beards since I posted that video of you in hospital refusing the drugs; they’re gagging for more of Dan the Preacher Man.”

 

Dan felt fury momentarily rise in his chest but he took a deep breath. He was going to be gone soon. “Fine,” he lied, stuffing the box into his backpack. “Just give me the ticket.”

 

“I’m going to need a package a week,” Nathan said, his eyes wide and hand hovering over his pocket.

 

Nathan was many things, foremost amongst them was a coward. Dan loomed over him. “You’ll get what I give you, you little twat,” he hissed.

 

True to form, Nathan shrank back. But seemed to rally and plastered a smile across his face. “The contract says that I dictate the content creation.”

 

“There won’t be any content if I don’t write it, you walking haircut,” he snapped.

 

“Look, Dan,” Nathan said, his voice taking on an unpleasant nasal quality, which Dan suspected he thought made him sound reasonable but actually made Dan want to headbut him. “I’m technically your boss, I know we’re mates too, but I have to be able to be in charge. I can’t pay for you, or for the tickets, if you’re not producing the content and we need a package a week.”

 

Dan balled his hands into fists. Little tendrils of hot pain shot up and down his arm but he squeezed his hand tighter, wanting to concentrate on the pain rather than the helpless rage building in his stomach. “Okay,” he ground out slowly.

 

Nathan grinned and lunged to wrap an arm around his shoulder and place a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “That a boy,” he said. “I knew we’d be able to work together. Dream team, eh?”

 

Dan shoved him as hard as he could and felt a little thrill of pleasure when he stumbled into Ned’s desk making him spill his coffee all over his keyboard. “Just give me the ticket.”

 

Nathan seemed to think better of saying anything else and produced a white envelope from his jacket pocket. Dan snatched it from him and started to storm from the room.

 

“Dan,” Nathan said just before he was at the door.

 

Dan paused, holding his body tight, but didn’t turn around.

 

“I need you to drop this off for me,” Nathan said.

 

Dan turned around. Nathan was holding out a disk. He glared at it and then Nathan in turn. “I’m not your fucking errand boy, Barley.”

 

Nathan smiled at him. “I know that Dan, but it’s on your way home. I’ve hired this well bitchin’ editor and he only works outta this pub on Warwick Street, the Old Nelson.”

 

Dan knew it. But, then, there weren’t that many pubs Dan didn’t know. He hadn’t been into a pub since he woke up. The thought made him feel strangely anxious. He didn’t move to take the disk, even though Nathan waggled it at him. “Come on, Dan,” he said. “I’ll add 50 quid to your next pay packet.”

 

Dan sighed dramatically but slouched forward to grab the disk. “What’s his name?”

 

“Electro Danny,” Nathan said, like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

 

Dan swallowed down another swelling tide of annoyance and stalked from the room. By the time he was outside the pub, the annoyance had morphed into an anxious ball in his stomach. His clothes felt too tight, like they were cutting into him.

 

He took a deep breath and carefully opened the envelope to stare down at his plane ticket. His heart was beating a bit strangely. As he looked at it, the idea of leaving London fully bloomed in his mind. He was finally getting away from Nathan, from the idiots at Sugar Ape, from the phantoms of his failures and long-dead dreams. He felt a bit a sick.

 

He sighed and tucked the ticket carefully back into his pocket and pushed open the pub door.

 

He walked over to the bar and ordered a drink automatically. He blinked down at the pint when it was placed in front of him. He hadn’t meant to drink anything. He was just going to drop off the disk and head off. He sighed and took a sip, looking around the bar.

 

He spotted Danny immediately; he was sat in the middle of the pub at a laptop. He’d dyed the tips of his sandy blonde hair pink. Dan had thought he’d been pulling back from this world, it made his palms sweaty how quickly he was being dragged back into it. He took another gulp. The pint glass was nearly empty when he looked at it again. He finished it and ordered another. Then another. Just to settle his nerves. He was wobbly by the time he stumbled over to Danny to give him the disk.

 

Danny was pleased to see him. He was babbling about the Preacher Man, but Dan was safely in the haze of only the second round of alcohol in over two months. Danny bought him another drink and a chaser before Dan really knew what was happening.

 

——

 

He woke the next morning outside the door to the flat. He groaned and blinked at the weak light starting to make its grimy way over the pavement. He rubbed his eyes and realised that he was absolutely freezing and everything hurt. He blinked, trying to understand what was happening. It took a few moments for information to start to filter through to him.

 

His jacket and bag were gone, which explained why he wasn’t in the flat; his keys and wallet were in there. He felt a wave of nausea roll over him. He sat up and looked around, as though he might suddenly find them lying next to him, but there was nothing but piles of litter and concrete.

 

He felt sick and shaky. He stumbled to his feet and back down the street to the pub. It was closed but enough banging on the door produced a barman.

 

“My jacket and bag,” Dan said, his voice still slurred from the alcohol pumping sluggishly around his body.

 

The barman raised his eyebrows at him. “You gave them to a homeless man last night,” he said. “Said you didn’t need them anymore because you were starting a new life anyway from London and all the idiots that lived here. Then you threw up on your shoes.” He sighed, looking at Dan liked he wished he didn’t have to remember the previous night. “But I took your keys off you before you left in case one of them was a car key and your wallet’s here too.”

 

The man handed over the small set of keys and his faded (empty) wallet. Dan glared down at them. “But, you can see they aren’t car keys.”

 

The barman shrugged. “Really? I had _no_ idea.” Dan suspected that his own shoes weren’t the only thing he’d thrown up on. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

 

“Yeah,” Dan said, “me neither.”

 

“You said your flight was this morning,” the barman pressed.

 

Dan swayed on his feet. “What time is it?”

 

The man nodded over to the bar. “Eight thirty.”

 

Dan wanted to sit down. Instead he stumbled back out of the bar and towards the flat. He needed to lie down and possibly never get up. The flight was at 9:30. There was no way he was going to catch it now. He’d missed it.

 

“Fuck,” he said, his stomach churning and his head still spinning from alcohol.

 

He’d missed his chance. There was no way in hell he was going to ask Barley for another flight. He wasn’t leaving London, he realised with a sick horror. It made sense. Dan didn’t get to do things like that. He fucked things up and he stayed still while everyone around him moved on.

 

There was a shrill beeping from inside his pocket and it took his fogged mind a few moments to realise what it was. He patted his jeans’ pocket and produced his phone. It was Jones. He considered not answering but decided against it.

 

“Dan?” Jones said. “Where are you?” He didn’t sound as angry as Dan had suspected he might.

 

He swallowed and blinked in the dingey morning light. “I’m not coming. It was a fucking stupid idea anyway.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. “There’ll just be a new flavour of idiots over there and I need to be here. I need to get out of this contract and find a new job and-”

 

Jones interrupted him, “What you going on about? I thought you got your passport sorted.”

 

“I did,” Dan said, even though he meant Nathan and Claire got it sorted. “The barman took my keys and I couldn’t get in the flat. I only just got them back and there’s no time to get to the airport now.” There was no way he was going to tell Jones the rest of the story. “But, it’s fine. It wasn’t a good idea. I bloody hate German people and the food’s probably shit.”

 

Jones didn’t say anything for a long time. Dan sat down on the pavement and closed his eyes. “Did you want to come, Dan?” he asked, voice devoid its usual amusement; a blank slate for Dan to project all and any of his worries onto. It meant he couldn’t figure out what he ought to say, what the best form of attack ought to be.

 

“No,” he said, then felt awkward because that wasn’t true and Jones didn’t react anyway. “Yes... I don’t know.”

 

There was a huff of breath that might have been a laugh. “Imagine being in your head with all them thoughts,” Jones said, his voice disbelieving but Dan thought he could hear something softer under that.

 

He scowled. “At least there are some thoughts in there.” It wasn’t his best insult, and Jones just chuckled anyway.

 

“Nice one,” he said. “I can sort you a ticket, Dan. The club will probably pay.”

 

Dan opened his eyes. “I don’t need any fucking charity,” he hissed, but his heart was starting to beat fast again, hope unfurling in his chest.  

 

Jones laughed again. “You can carry my gear for me,” he said. “Earn your keep.”

 

**TBC**


	2. Now walk it off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He grew to know the city, or at least the parts he could walk to in a couple of hours. It was different from London. Berlin showed it scars. The remnants of the war, both second and cold ran through the city like veins. It made him feel oddly fond of it, the stark communist buildings loomed at him as he walked, like proud monuments of past mistakes. Berlin wasn’t trying to hide its brutal history. It was beaten-up and shamed, but for all that… beautiful. There was no denying it. The old and new, mismatched, but existing side by side as people went about their lives, were everywhere. Berlin was proud of its scars. It gave Dan a strange sense of hope that at turns lifted his spirits and terrified him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT! Enjoy folks, let me know what you think as we try starting to put Dan back together and breaking down just exactly who Jones is...

**Chapter Two**

 

Dan hadn’t thought to look up anything about where they would be staying or, actually, anything about Berlin at all. Jones had text him which train to get from the airport and the address of the flat. Dan made his way through the crowd to the station, not entirely sure he was going in the right direction, but also not wanting to ask. True to his word, Jones had got another ticket before he’d even caught his own flight. Dan couldn’t think of the words to thank him, so he’d just held himself tight and still as Jones explained it would be waiting for him the next morning at the airport. He hadn’t dared believe it was true until he’d got to Stansted and checked in, feeling nervous and twitchy, still vaguely hungover from the previous day and sick with anxious, twitchy energy.  

 

He’d picked up the new laptop at the last moment as he left the house, almost instinctively. It wasn’t like he could imagine writing, but he clutched it tightly as he made his way to the flat they’d be staying in. It made him feel better to have it with him, like perhaps there was some purpose to him uprooting his life and moving countries.

 

Berlin was cold and industrial with flashes of history looming up at him as the train cut through the city. It looked almost exactly like Dan might have expected, if he’d stopped to consider it at all. It washed over him in a blur as he counted down the stops until he needed to get off.

 

The flat turned out to look like an actual flat and not a crack den, which was certainly an improvement. Jones greeted him at the door with a grin and very short tour. Dan looked around in a kind of daze. It was small, but there was natural light coming in from large windows and the floors were smooth and wooden. There was only one bedroom, but the sofa looked more comfortable than the one he’d spent the last few weeks on. He plonked his bag down on it and looked around, feeling almost too big for the space and too small at the same time.

 

“Not bad, right?” Jones said, with a shrug. “I mean, it doesn’t smell of damp and takeaway so anything would be an improvement on that.”

 

“I saw a rat that was was bigger than most dogs in the kitchen the other day,” Dan said, “this really couldn’t be worse.”

 

Jones laughed. “Yeah, the normal DJ lives here, I think,” he said. “He’s taken my slot at Boom Town, so…”

 

Dan wondered how well connected Jones was. Perhaps he had a whole network of DJ friends all over the world just waiting to offer up their flats so they could live in a shitty London flat for a few weeks. “How come you’re a DJ?” he asked, not sure what he was exactly getting at, but wanting to know the answer. Perhaps the question was ‘How come you’re successful at something and I didn’t know?’ The thought was strange and he pushed it away.

 

Jones laughed. “Don’t need to read to understand music,” he said with a shrug before launching into a long spiel about his gig that night and the tunes he’d been creating for months. “You wanna come?” he asked, suddenly, turning to Dan.

 

Dan blinked at him. He hadn’t even considered seeing Jones’ set. The truth was, he hadn’t considered anything beyond getting on the plane. That in itself seemed so incredibly unlikely that there wasn’t much point in thinking passed that point. He’d sat motionless for most of the flight, waiting for something to happen, to be told that there’d been some mistake and that he needed to get off the plane, perhaps while it was still over the channel. But nothing happened. He made it through passport control without even a raised eyebrow and all the way to the flat. Jones didn’t seem to notice his ongoing disbelief and confusion.

 

“Erm,” he replied. “I don’t know.”

 

Jones shrugged. “You can come whenever,” he said easily. “I mean, I’ll be playing every weekend and on Thursdays.”

 

“Right,” he said. “Okay.”

 

“Cool, I gotta head to the club and sort some stuff out,” he said. “Sure you don’t want to come?”

 

Dan nodded. The idea of following Jones around like his pet made him feel queasy. He felt adrift, not sure what he ought to do now he was actually there but sure he didn’t want it to revolve around Jones. “I’ll stay here, maybe do some sightseeing or something,” he said, swinging his arms by his side.

 

He felt awkward in the tiny space with Jones. They’d been alone a lot, especially since he got out of hospital, but not really like this. It felt more intimate than he thought it would. They were living together in a foreign land. He still wasn’t sure if Jones was his second name or a nickname. That wasn’t right, surely.

 

Jones, as ever, didn’t seem bothered by the tension in the room. “Right, see you later. There’s another key on the side.” He nodded to the kitchen counter before grabbing his things and leaving.

 

——-

 

Dan didn’t go out sightseeing. He sat in the flat for a few hours, staring at the wall, a slow feeling of guilt and shame creeping over him. In the end he dragged himself onto the street outside. It was cold but bright, the air almost biting at the exposed skin of his hands and face. He hunched into his coat and walked at random down the pavement. He didn’t know where he was. Not what part of the city or the street name. Not that knowing those things would help; he didn’t know what he was looking for anyway.

 

There was nothing to really see, just rows of houses that looked a bit like London, only sort of not. He’d thought maybe he’d stumble across something beautiful if he just looked. When he’d pictured himself in Berlin, in fleeting snatches, he’d imagined that he’d feel different somehow. That with the change of location would come a change in the low level numbness he felt. But he didn’t. He looked around at the slightly differently constructed buildings and felt… nothing. He didn’t even hate them, they were just there.

 

He hunched lower and continued to walk. His leg was starting to ache; even that was the same. He turned corners at random, hoping something might catch his eye. But nothing did. Eventually he found a little shop which was just selling beer. That at least you didn’t see in London.

 

He stepped inside, just to look, just to see something different.

 

He left having spent all the euros he’d changed. He wasn’t sure what he was buying; he’d brushed off the owner’s attempts to explain the beer in only very slightly halting English. He found his way back to flat mostly by accident and sat down.

 

Jones was still out. He opened one of the beers.

 

\-----

 

Jones didn’t mention the empty bottles the next day. Dan took a deep breath as he placed them into the bin. This was a new day. He needed to be different. He didn’t come to a new city to sit around and feel just as miserable and lost as he did at home.

 

He went out and tried to find a bus that might take him into the city centre. He wasn’t really sure where he was going, but with enough looking confused and like he didn't understand what people were saying, he managed to get a bus.

 

He stepped off again in something that looked very much like a city centre. It was beautiful, it reminded him of Trafalgar Square, the buildings were old and imposing. He stared at them for a few moments, taking in their magnitude and implicit history.

 

Then he turned to find a bus that would take him home.

 

He’d felt nothing. He didn’t want to go into any of the buildings around him, didn’t want to learn anything about them. He just wanted to be at home.

 

The realisation was horrifying. He stopped by the little beer shop on his way back.

 

\-----

 

“I’m going home,” Dan said the next morning. He’d woken to find Jones tidying away the bottles from the floor around the sofa. He felt dreadful, his heart beating sluggishly in his chest making his head pound and stomach churn. He’d stood up, his head swimming for a moment, but intending to help instead he’d just blurted the words out. He hadn’t expected to say them, hadn’t really been aware he was thinking them. But they felt right as soon as they were out. He didn’t belong here. He tried to stand tall, wanting to seem authoritative, although he was squinting in the only dim light of the room.

 

Jones looked at him, blinking in surprise. “What? You only just got here… the flight back isn’t for ages yet.”

 

He was right, and it wasn’t like he could afford to buy another one, but the thought was terrifying. “No,” he said, shaking his head, his thoughts swirling uncomfortably. “I have to leave.”

 

“Why?” Jones seemed so genuinely confused that Dan actually answered.

 

“I don’t know who I am here!” he burst out. He must still have been drunk, he’d thought later, there was no way he’d have admitted that otherwise. But once the words were out, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m just… I’m walking around and I don’t… I don’t… When I was in London at least I knew who I was-”

 

“Hating everything and everyone isn’t an identity,” Jones cut in, but he seemed amused rather than condescending. It made Dan still from where he’d been preparing to storm from the room or shut the conversation down entirely. “If you don’t know who you are here… I don’t think you knew who you were there either.”

 

“But everyone else did,” Dan said before he could realise how stupid that would sound.

 

Jones fixed him with another intent look.  “You think so?”

 

“No,” he admitted. “I mean, people thought they did.”

 

“That’s worse,” Jones said. “People telling you you’re something you ain’t, that’s worse.”

 

There was something in Jones’ tone that made Dan pause. He was right. Or, he was probably right, at the very least. When Dan thought about the club, with everyone chanting Preacher Man at him, it made him feel like he was drowning.

 

He felt a spark of something strange, an almost forgotten feeling. He thought it might be curiosity. Jones was too certain of what he was saying. “You don’t talk about growing up much,” he said, carefully.

 

“You never asked,” Jones said, but his whole posture changed; his shoulders stiffened and his face went carefully blank.

 

“You got parents?” It wasn’t that he cared. Of course he didn’t, but Jones clearly didn’t want to talk about it and that made him immediately curious. He was, he supposed, still a journalist. A failed, terrible version of one. But a journalist nonetheless. He didn’t like not understanding things and he really didn’t understand Jones. He sat back down on the sofa and moved over, making room for Jones to join him.

 

Jones eyed him for a moment, looking suspicious. Perhaps because Dan had completely changed the topic. But Jones was right; he literally couldn’t leave. There was no way on earth he’d be able to get another ticket home and, this… this was something Dan actually wanted to talk about. He didn’t want to talk, or think, about himself and his pathetic, hopeless little life. There was no point, it just made him feel like he was sinking. But Jones was something new, something he could potentially find interesting. He wasn’t sure when the last time that happened was. He’d interviewed hundreds of people since he started working, but most of them he found vapid and uninteresting; Dan just had to scratch at the surface and he had them all figured out. But it was different with Jones; the more time he spent with him, the less he seemed to know.

 

He looked at Jones, trying to hold eye contact as best he could. He’d found that increasingly difficult over the years. It always felt too intimate. He worried people might be able to read something in his expression he didn’t want them to. Jones eventually seemed to give in, his shoulders relaxing as he came to sit down next to Dan. “Everyone’s got parents,” Jones said, sounding almost petulant. “I just… mine weren’t around. Had me young; I was mostly raised by me nan. It was great, she’d make these genius cakes when I was sad, and she let me watch whatever I wanted on telly.”

 

Dan frowned, he’d seen the emotions play over Jones’ face. Something small and sad, just for a moment, before he plastered over it with a grin. “Where’d you grow up?”

 

“Around about,” Jones said with a shrug. “Tower Hamlets for a bit, then Streatham. I was in Bermondsey for awhile too.”

 

Dan didn’t need more of the blanks filled in. Those were not the areas someone from a comfortable home grew up in. He’d seen the estates in Bermondsey; they used them for films when only the most depressing of sets would do. “Your Nan still around?”

 

Jones blinked and looked away. Dan couldn’t remember him ever doing that before. He shrugged. “She died when I was 14”

 

There was a long pause. Dan didn’t know what to say. That was too young to live on his own. He swallowed.

 

“She taught me how to make this brilliant walnut cake,” Jones said, like the mention of her death hadn’t happened. “I should make you one.”

 

Dan’s face formed a smile all on its own. “You want to make me a cake?”

 

Jones positively beamed at him. “I’ll make you a cake, Dan,” he said. “You only gotta ask.”

 

—-

 

It became a sort of game after that. Dan tried to prise information out of Jones about his past. It was harder than he’d imagined it would be. Jones had never seemed to care about anything before, Dan had suspected that all he’d need would be a few carefully chosen questions and he’d have his whole backstory. Most of the people Dan was used to being around couldn’t wait for the chance to talk about themselves. That’s all they were doing while someone else was speaking: waiting for their chance to talk about themselves again. But, Jones didn’t seem interested in that. Especially not about his past, he’d talk about his music, or what he’d been up to that day, he even spent a good twenty minutes one day talking about his clothes. But, the moment Dan mentioned him growing up, Jones clammed up immediately. That just made Dan more interested in finding out more.

 

He started walking the streets during the day. There was an old map stuffed into a bookcase that he pulled out and used to navigate to places almost at random. He’d think of questions to ask Jones as he walked. His leg bothered him at first, but after the first week it stopped. Perhaps the walking was good for it, he didn’t know.

 

He waited a full week before he picked up one of Nathan’s calls. “What?” he snapped, bringing the phone to his ear reluctantly. Nathan had started to seem almost like a bad dream and it was depressing to bring him back into focus.

 

“Dan!” Nathan seemed delighted that he’d finally got through. “How’s the first package coming along?”

 

Dan paused from where he’d been making tea on the hob. He hadn’t actually thought about his promise to write for Nathan for a couple of days. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably. “It’s not,” he started and then felt stupid. “I’ve only just got here. I need to- to figure out the city first.” Justifying himself to Barley made him want to bleach his own skin.

 

“What about the camera? You get any footage at least?” Nathan sounded conflicted, his natural desire to seem unaffected warring with his ambition to make Dan look as stupid as possible.

 

“Yeah, about that,” Dan said. He wanted to smile but the idea of doing that during a call with Nathan was unpleasant. “It’s not here. It got… redirected.”

 

“What do you mean?” Nathan sounded put out which gave Dan a little thrill of pleasure.

 

“When I met Electro Donny-“

 

“Danny,” Nathan supplied

 

“Sure,” Dan said. “It went missing that night. I suggest you ask Electric Daniel if he’s got it. Or, maybe try some of London’s traps. Apparently one of them made off with some of my stuff.”

 

“Oh,” Nathan said, then he laughed. “You’re such a lad, ain’t you Ashcroft? Always in some trouble! I can send you another one.”

 

“Yeah fine, I’ll text you my address,” he lied. “Look, I’m actually pretty busy so-“

 

“I do need a story off you, Dan,” Nathan said, his voice surprisingly firm suddenly. “Soon.”

 

Dan scowled at the now boiling water in front of him. “Yeah, got it. Wouldn’t want to the idiot masses to go without their nutritionless, mindless nonsense for an hour or something.”

 

Nathan laughed with glee. “That’s my Dan! Speak soon, buddy.”

 

He scowled at the now blank screen and threw his phone onto the sofa and tired to forget the whole thing.

 

——-

 

He grew to know the city, or at least the parts he could walk to in a couple of hours. It was different from London. Berlin showed it scars. The remnants of the war, both second and cold ran through the city like veins. It made him feel oddly fond of it. The stark communist buildings loomed at him as he walked, like proud monuments of past mistakes. Berlin wasn’t trying to hide its brutal history. It was beaten-up and shamed, but for all that… beautiful. There was no denying it. The old and new, mismatched, but existing side by side as people went about their lives, were everywhere. Berlin was proud of its scars. It gave Dan a strange sense of hope that at turns lifted his spirits and terrified him.

 

His mood didn’t exactly lift, but he started to feel more comfortable. It felt a little less like something awful was waiting just around the corner for him as the days slipped by.

 

Nathan continued to call, the frequency rising as Dan consistently failed to produce any work. It wasn’t that he was being deliberately obtuse. It was just that he couldn’t imagine writing anything. It was like he was all wrung out. Nothing interested him enough to put words down on paper. It was concerning. He was a writer. It was who he was, and without it, it was possible that he might just disappear entirely. Become an outline of a person, a hollow sack of blood and bones.

 

Perhaps that was why he agreed to see Jones play. He hoped that he might spark something, even if it was just annoyance. Besides, it was only fair, given it was the reason they were there. Jones hadn’t actually asked him if he wanted to come much after the first couple of days, so when he asked Dan again one day, hair still damp from the shower, it caught him off-guard.

 

“You wanna come see this set then?” he’d asked, a small grin starting to tug at the corners of his mouth.

 

Dan watched a little drop of water cling to the end of a strand of his hair before dropping onto his bare shoulder. “I guess,” he said and shrugged. He hadn’t expected that to be his answer, but he couldn’t exactly back out once he’d said it.

 

“Genius, I’ll get you on the list,” he said. “Your mind’s gonna be blown.”

 

Dan hadn’t thought about the reality of it until after Jones had left. He’d need to go out. He’d need to find the club. He’d walked by it a couple of times, but only in the day. There was the possibility he’d spend the night wandering Berlin’s industrial district lost and alone. Although that would probably be a better night than if he made it to the club.

 

He wasn’t sure what he should wear. He didn’t spent a lot of time thinking about clothes generally. But this would be the first time that he’d be seeing Jones at work and he didn’t want people to think he was some freak that Jones was bringing along just out of pity. Even if it was true. In the end he pulled on the only jacket he’d brought with him, some dark jeans and his least wrinkled shirt. His hair was far too long to do anything with, so he didn’t bother.

 

He could hear the club several streets before he reached it. There was music, or at least a heavy beat, pulsing out from a huge stone building hunched in an industrial park. There was a queue of people snaking around the corner of the street but Dan slouched passed them and to the front.

 

“Dan Ashcroft,” he muttered, feeling embarrassed. He’d been on plenty of guest lists back in London, but it never stopped making him feel silly.

 

The bouncer’s eyes flicked over him and then over the list in front of him. “You’re Jones’ friend?” he asked, in the perfect English Dan had come to expect from almost everyone he met.

 

Dan paused. No one had ever called him that before. It didn’t feel as awful as he might have expected. He nodded.

 

The bouncer grinned happily at him. “He’s a genius,” he said, “you should see the crowd when he comes on.”

 

It wasn’t that Dan thought Jones was bad. He’d heard him play. He’d seen how seriously he took his job. But it was still a surprise to hear someone praise him so openly and with such genuine affection. Back home Jones was clearly liked, but no one had really talked about him as being particularly talented. Which made sense, because no one in London seemed able to tell talent from a haircut. Jones actually seemed to have both, which should make him the biggest thing in London. The idea that he wasn’t gave Dan a momentary flash of annoyance. He was so surprised by the feeling that he didn’t know what to do with it.

 

The bouncer was still looking at him expectantly. “He’s great,” Dan said, surprised that the words didn’t feel entirely false on his tongue.

 

“He’ll be pleased you are here,” the bouncer said, pulling open the rope and ushering him inside the club.

 

Dan stumbled inside the building. It was a vast, open space, concrete columns covered in graffiti extended to the high ceiling.  There were metal frames holding pulsing lights crossing the space, aimed at the stage where a DJ danced in front of their decks, earphones pressed to one ear. It was an impressive, almost imposing, space. The music was practically a solid wall of noise as he made his way to the bar.

 

The barman asked him something in German which Dan didn’t understand, although he could probably guess. There was a pause where they looked at each other blankly before he tried again. “What can I get you?” he said with a little grin.

 

Dan felt panicked. He didn’t want a drink. He didn’t want to drink ever again. Or maybe he only wanted to be drunk forever. He was never sure and it made him anxious. But the idea of being in this place, with so many people happy and at ease, while he was sober was awful. “A shot, anything,” he shouted in the end.

 

The barman laughed and tipped some amber liquid into a shot glass and slid it over to him. Dan downed it and slammed it back down. The familiar burn was good as it slipped down his body. He gestured for a refill. He had a couple more before prising himself away from the bar.

 

He checked his watch. Jones was due on in a few minutes so he found a bench near the back of the room, making sure he’d have a clear view of the booth. There was no clear break in the music that Dan could discern, but suddenly the people around him began to cheer. He peered up to the booth and sure enough, there was Jones. He looked small, dwarfed by the decks he was using. But Dan could see his grin all the way from where he was sitting. He was wearing a tank top and a necklace that seemed to have dolls’ heads attached to it. He was bopping along to the beat, dancing as he set up the music.

 

Dan looked around, taking in the way the crowd was reacting, picking up on the vibes Jones had created. It was almost like he could see it spilling out from the booth, infecting everyone in the giant club. Jones was somehow managing to connect to everyone in the crowd. He looked good doing it too.

 

Dan watched him intently as he mixed the songs, wondering what it was that was making the difference from the DJ that had been on before, because there was no denying that it was different. It hit him about half way through the set, as Jones reached up to play with some dials on the decks. He meant it, Dan realised with a jolt. In a sea of posers and charlatans in stupid clothes, Jones really cared about what he was creating. He was making something far closer to art than all the exhibitions that Dan had been forced to cover over the years.

 

The thought made him feel strange and almost embarrassed, because if what Jones was doing was actually authentic, then surely he could see that what Dan had been doing for years was not. That, really, he was no better than Barley and all his cronies. What had he actually done? Written one or two not terrible articles before he dried up and became whatever he was now - something empty and shrivelled.

 

He stumbled back to the bar.  

 

The colours were starting to bend nicely by the time Jones was done. There were a few bodies pressed against him. That was nice too, actually. It had been awhile. He couldn’t see their faces, but that was probably for the best. He didn’t want to know who they were.

 

“Dan!” There was Jones, his hair damp again, this time with sweat. “Having fun?” He nodded to the body currently grinding against Dan from behind.

 

“Best ever,” he muttered.

 

Jones frowned at him. He wondered if his face had somehow given him away. He’d been trying to smile, but perhaps it had been more of a grimace. “You like the set?”

 

It wasn’t really like Jones to ask for feedback. Dan had fallen asleep to his music countless times over the years and he hadn’t once asked for an opinion. “It was…” Dan wanted to say something nice, which was such a strange impulse that he paused. Everything that came to his mind seemed stupid and over the top. He shrugged. “I don’t get this type of music.” That was true but not what he wanted to say.

 

Something flickered across Jones’ face but it was too fast and too dark for Dan to figure out what it was. “You want a drink?” Jones asked. He didn’t wait for Dan to nod his head before heading off to the bar.

 

Dan was swaying on his feet by the time Jones returned with some drinks. The shots seemed to have stripped Dan’s taste buds from his mouth, but he suspected that it was something sugary. He downed it in a couple of gulps. Jones was dancing when he looked up. People were crowded around him, perhaps recognising him from his set. It wasn’t the sort of music that you could dance to _with_ anyone but people were certainly giving it a good go, swaying into Jones’ personal space. He grinned in return and kept up his slightly strange bopping motion that was, at least, perfectly in time with the music.

 

Dan turned to get more drinks, not wanting to dance and not wanting anyone to decide that they ought to talk to him. By the time he was back, someone had attached themselves to Jones’ back, arms wrapped around his waist. Dan blinked when he realised it was a man. He was skinny, sort of androgynous, a bit like Jones, but clearly male for all that. Jones didn’t seem to mind in the least. He had his eyes closed and was swaying to the beat, arms in the air.

 

It wasn’t that Dan was surprised exactly. He’d hardly thought about it at all. But the sight was… strange. Strange because he couldn’t look away, strange because he wasn’t sure that he _wanted_ to. He downed both the drinks he’d got and retreated to the seat he’d found earlier. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. It was almost like being at home. The room was spinning gently around him which was familiar too.

 

When he opened his eyes again, there was a woman sitting next to him. She’d pressed herself entirely down his side. He blinked at her. She turned her head to grin at him. Her pupils were blown so wide he couldn’t see the colour of her eyes. But she was pretty enough, the thought swam to him through the sea of alcohol pulsing through his system. When she stuck her tongue out at him there was a little white pill resting there. He smiled at her. Leant in.

 

The light was tilting much more crazily by the time her boyfriend arrived at their sides. He didn’t bother trying to wriggle out of his grip, staring blankly into his furious face. It was going to turn ugly, but the thought was so distant he didn’t try and stop it.

 

Then Jones was suddenly there, getting between them. Dan blinked, swaying on his feet from where he’d been shoved by the boyfriend and confused about the sudden change in circumstances. Jones grinned winningly at the boyfriend. “Sorry, mate, he’s off his face, wouldn’t know who he was snogging. Could’ve been you for all he knew.”

 

The boyfriend didn’t seem placated. He snarled something and stepped into Jones’ personal space. Dan expected Jones to step back, perhaps turntail and run. Jones was smaller than either Dan or the boyfriend, but instead he went very still and leaned into the other man. His whole body radiated defiance and barely controlled anger. There was something in his eyes that Dan hadn’t seen before and, for the first time, he could see the little street kid that grew up in Tower Hamlets. This was not the first time Jones had found himself in a fight. Jones hissed something that Dan couldn’t catch over the music. But whatever it was made the boyfriend quickly back down, shrugging his shoulders and wrapping an arm around his girlfriend and disappearing into the crowd.

 

Jones turned to grab Dan by the arm and tug him outside. Dan blinked, confused that somehow he’d done something stupid and yet he wasn’t bleeding and nothing hurt too much.

 

“Bloody hell, Dan,” Jones was saying as they left the club, the cold air hitting Dan and making him instantly more alert. He frowned, trying to figure out what had just happened. “How’d you do that? I’ve been coming here every night for nearly two weeks and nothing like that’s happened before.”

 

It was the first time Dan had heard anything approaching annoyance in Jones’ voice directed at him. It made something clench in his chest. “Fuck off,” he hissed. “It was just… It’s not like-”

 

“Oh leave off, Dan,” Jones cut in, waving him away. “You didn’t have to come. I know you hate it.”

 

“You don’t know anything about what I hate,” Dan snapped. “You couldn’t. You do whatever you want, fly all over Europe playing gigs and dancing with pretty boys. You don’t know anything about me.”

 

Jones looked at him like he’d grown an extra head. “What are you going on about? I’ve been living with you for ages. I know enough.”

 

“You couldn’t know what it’s like,” Dan said, caught somewhere between wanting to explain why he’d nearly got into a fight at Jones’ place of work and furious that Jones didn’t already understand. “You live this… Your life is fucking great.”

 

Jones’ face closed up abruptly. “Just leave it, Dan,” he said softly. “Let’s just go home. I don’t want to fight with you; you’re off your tits.”

 

He reached forward but Dan shrugged him off and stumbled back. “I have to work for Nathan fucking Barley and you just swan about being a bloody DJ and getting paid for it! He wants me to write something and I feel like… I don’t… ” He trailed off and glared at Jones, daring him to contradict what he was saying.  The words were slurred and he suspected that he sounded pathetic rather than dismissive but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He looked away from Jones, staring furiously back at the club.

 

Jones was staring at him like he’d never seen him before. He let out a slow breath. “You know it’s probably not legally binding, right?” Dan looked back sharply to find that Jones had moved toward him and was now so close that he could make out the darker circle of blue around his eyes. “You were drugged and I don’t think you can just… You don’t have to work for him. You know that, right?”

 

Dan looked away again.

 

“Of course you do,” Jones said slowly. “You are well strange sometimes. Why’d you do things that make you sad? You could have started your own website, it would be well good.”

 

Dan balled his hands into fists. It made his right arm hot with agonising pain because he hadn’t been doing any of the exercises that the doctors had told him to do before he left the hospital. But it was better than thinking about what Jones was saying. He was wrong. Everything he was saying was wrong, but he didn’t know how to explain that. The words didn’t want to come out. How did he explain to someone like Jones that fighting was just too hard? That sometimes it was all he could do to stand up, let alone take on idiots like Nathan Barley? What would be the point anyway? And if he couldn’t do that, if his writing, his one, minimal, skill was useless, then he wasn’t any better than them, was he? He didn’t deserve any better than them in the end, not really. So, why not work for Barley? It was all he deserved.

 

Jones was quiet for a long time. “It ain’t like it makes you a bad person,” he said in the end. “I worked in that fucking poncey hairdressers, didn’t I? It’s not like it was how I wanted people to hear my music. But, I don’t know, at least they were hearing it.”

 

“That’s not the same,” Dan snapped.

 

Jones raised his eyebrows at him. “Only in your head,” he said, “because you can’t see in my head any better than I can see in yours. I don’t know how it feels to be working for Nathan and you don’t know how I feel having to smile at hundreds of Nathans while they ignore my tunes.”

 

Dan sighed and looked up. Jones was looking at him, but there was none of the normal disappointment or frustration he was used to seeing when he couldn’t explain why he’d done something destructive. “At least I feel something when I’m angry.” It didn’t even make sense in the context of the conversation, but it was all he could offer. The only insight he’d ever really had into why he did the things he did.

 

Jones nodded. “Yeah, it’s addictive, ain’t it? People do all sorts just to make sure they feel something. It ain’t a long term strategy, though. It’s gonna kill you if you don’t find something else.”

 

That sounded a bit too much like something someone who understood how he felt might say. He wanted to ask something to shift the focus away from him, but didn’t know how. “I want to go home,” he said eventually. Jones’ eyes narrowed and Dan felt a stab of panic and hurried on. “I mean back to the flat. I want to go back to the flat.”

 

Jones visibly relaxed. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Come on then.”

 

Dan fell into step with him. Jones seemed content to let their conversation drop, which made him feel incredibly grateful. There was too much to unpick when his head was still spinning and the colours from the street lights were dancing strangely. “I liked your set,” he muttered. It was easier when he wasn’t looking directly at him. “You’re good.”

 

Jones turned his head very slightly but he could tell that he was smiling. “Thanks Dan.”

 

——

 

Several things happened the next day. Most of them involved Dan crawling to the toilet to throw up. He lay on the floor of the bathroom and considered the possibility that he might die. But, he didn’t get that lucky. Once he’d stopped dry heaving, he crawled back to the sofa and lay there instead.

 

He thought about what Jones had said about the contract. Could he really just refuse to work for Nathan? It wasn’t like the little twerp had any real backbone, if Dan threatened to sue him for coercion maybe he would just let him go. He could send back the laptop, maybe even find a way to pay Nathan back for the flight.

 

Or he could just do the job. It wasn’t like he had many other money making options. The idea made him want to sleep for the rest of his life.

 

He decided to take a time-honoured approach and ignore the whole thing in case it happened to just go away.

 

Around three o’clock he remembered that Jones had been dancing with a man. His mind carefully stepped around the thought, as though not wanting to look directly at it. Not that Dan minded, he’d just never considered it. He backed away from the idea. It was like there was a trapdoor in his mind he’d only just noticed. He did not want to open it. He pulled the blanket over his head and tried to make the world go away for a little while.

 

——

 

Jones didn’t seem to sleep. He’d known that since they started living together. But for some reason he hadn’t wondered about it before. But now, with little else to distract him, Dan did wonder about it. Like just about everything else about Jones, it didn’t really seem to make sense. It couldn’t just be drugs, was he an insomniac?

 

“When do you sleep?” Dan asked one morning while Jones was banging around in the kitchen having only got in from work a couple of hours before.

 

Jones stopped and grinned at him. “I sleep,” he said. “You just sleep more.”

 

There was probably an insult in there, but Dan didn’t want to look for it. Besides, he _had_ done a lot sleeping since he got out of hospital. Or, at least, a lot of lying on sofas dozing. It didn’t actually feel like he’d slept in years. But Jones’ words made him pull himself up, his leg was starting to hurt and that meant he probably needed to walk.

 

He found an old coffee shop about half an hour from the flat. It was frequented almost entirely by men in their 80s, small, quiet men with pipes and heavy eyes. But no one tried to speak to him as he tucked himself into a corner. He drank coffee and read the two books he’d thought to bring with him from London. It was nice. It felt good to be out of the flat but also not wandering aimlessly.

 

He came back the next day and then the ones after that. Then, one day, he took his laptop with him. He opened it and stared at the blank page. Then closed it firmly and finished his coffee. The next day he typed a sentence. The first one since he woke up in the hospital. It felt like he was dragging something painful from deep inside his guts up and out through his chest. He deleted it and closed the laptop again. He felt sick. Something had unfurled in him for a moment. It was terrifying. He gulped coffee.

 

But he brought it with him the next day and wrote two sentences.

 

——-

 

Jones didn’t ask what Dan did during the day. He just greeted him with a flick of his head and a grin. “Alright?”

 

Dan was noticing those things about Jones increasingly. As he was failing to get more information about his past from him, he noticed other things. Like the way all his clothes seemed to fit him perfectly.

 

“You make your clothes,” Dan said one evening as he watched Jones get ready for his set. The flat was too small for much privacy, not that Jones seemed to need much.

 

Jones laughed. “I alter some stuff,” he said with a shrug. “But I also know what my actual size is.”

 

“I don’t,” Dan said, which was just an articulation of Jones’ point, he knew. He used to know, but his weight seemed to fluctuate almost at random and he’d given up keeping track.

 

“Clearly,” Jones said. “You’re rocking that hobo aesthetic. It’s, like, totally in.”

 

The impression of Nathan made Dan’s blood run cold. “I need a haircut,” he admitted. “But the last time a cat died and I don’t know where to go around here.”

 

“I could cut it for you, if you want,” Jones said, when he finally stopped moving and turned to look at Dan. If he thought the mention of a dead cat was strange, he didn’t mention it. It was one of the things that Dan was learning to appreciate about Jones; he took the things Dan told him at face value. It was refreshing. “I liked that cut you got before, it’s nice being able to see your ears. I could do that for you if you want.”

 

That made Dan want to blush, which was mortifying. “You cut hair too?”

 

Jones grinned, perhaps taking Dan’s question as consent. “I learned when I worked at the hairdressers; they wanted me to cut too, but I didn’t like it.” He dropped the tank top he’d been holding in his search for an outfit and came out into the kitchen. He stopped in front of Dan, his eyes narrowed in thought. “But, I can cut your hair easy.”

 

“Okay,” Dan found himself saying. He told himself it would be a good way to prise more information out of Jones, but he suspected there was more to it than that. He didn't want to think about it.

 

“Genius!” Jones was already going back to his room. “I nicked some scissors when I left so I could do my fringe….” He started rooting around in various bags and Dan tried not to fidget. “Go wash your hair,” Jones shouted from his room. “I need find the stuff and finish getting ready.”

 

And that was how Dan found himself standing in the kitchen, towel around his waist and hair dripping. Jones stopped walking abruptly when he came back out of his room. His eyes flicked down Dan’s body and back up. Dan swallowed. There was nothing in Jones expression that gave away what he might be thinking but the silence went on a moment too long. Perhaps he wouldn’t have even noticed it a few days earlier. But fresh on image of Jones dancing with another man… Dan swallowed again.

 

“Jump up on the stool,” Jones said suddenly, his smile back in place, like the moment hadn’t happened. Maybe it hadn’t. It wasn’t like Dan was exactly an expert in picking up the signs.

 

He climbed onto the stool next to the kitchen counter and tried not to fidget. Jones fluttered around him, apparently looking at his hair. When he reached out and ran a hand through it, Dan’s arms erupted into goosebumps. He wanted to shiver and close his eyes. Instead he gritted his teeth hard. “You didn’t like cutting hair, then? Should I be worried?”

 

Jones laughed. He was so close Dan could feel the way it rumbled through his body. “It’s basically what everyone expected me to be growing up, innit? Like it’s some sort of rule. Suck cock, cut hair. Drove me nuts, but I guess I don’t mind actually doing it.” Jones was running his hands through Dan’s damp hair, like he was testing the length. It was simultaneously pleasant and unsettling.

 

“Oh, we’re talking about that then?” Dan managed after a moment, not sure what else to say.

 

“What’s that mean?” Dan could hear the smile in Jones’ voice.

 

“You liking men, we’re talking about it now.” He shifted. It wasn’t like he was uncomfortable with it. Or, at least, no more uncomfortable than he was talking to anyone about anything personal. It was just a shift in their dynamic.

 

Jones laughed. “We’re just talking now full stop. It’s not like I was hiding it before,” he said. “You never asked. You want this like you had it before then?”

 

Dan didn’t know what to do with the statements before the question, so he ignored them. “I guess? Just whatever’s easiest to deal with.”

 

“Okay,” Jones said mildly, “I get it, low maintenance it is.” He hummed to himself while he worked, his hands delicate and precise. Dan tried not to notice, tried not to think about how close they were and how few clothes he was wearing. He could have pulled on some jeans when he was out of the shower. Why hadn’t he thought to do that?

 

Dan thought now would be a good time to ask Jones more about his childhood, but nothing came to mind. His brain seemed to be mostly white static, perhaps still tiptoeing around that trapdoor. He was sure he didn’t want to think too much about the way his skin seemed to tingle with every incidental touch. He closed his eyes and then wrenched them open when it only seemed to heighten the feeling of Jones’ fingers running through his hair.

 

“I’m going to shave the sides, that okay?” Jones’ voice was gentle, less boisterous than he was used to.

 

“Hmmm?” Dan said, his brain taking a moment to catch up with what was being said. “Yes, that’s…. whatever you want.”

 

“Cool.” Jones walked away into his bedroom and Dan could hear him rooting around for a few minutes. He came back, clicking on the electric razor as he walked. It buzzed momentarily into life until Jones flicked it back off.

 

“You’re not going to make me look stupid, are you?” he asked, aiming for a joke, but some tension crept into his voice anyway. “Like, shave one half of my head or something?”

 

Jones’ mouth quirked. “Nah, you’re okay. I won’t do nothing bad. Not that it would matter, people’d probably just decide that it’s the new look. You got that way about you.”

 

“What’s that meant to mean?” Dan asked.

 

“Just… people want you to like them. You got that thing where people always wanna impress you and if you had a stupid haircut people’d be as likely to think they need to change their hair than think you’re a tit.”

 

“But-” he started, feeling anxious. Jones couldn’t possibly be more wrong. That wasn’t who he was, because if he was, then surely he wouldn’t be broke and working for someone he actively despised.

 

“Don’t worry,” Jones said, leaning down so he was practically whispering in his ear, “I still think you’re an idiot.”

 

Dan couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from his chest. “That’s okay then.”

 

Jones laughed again, the razor buzzing back into life. “But we might be the only two,” he said. “So we better stick together.”

 

Dan’s face wanted to form another smile. “I guess so.”

 

Jones didn’t say anything else as he circled Dan, snipping and tidying and whatever else he was doing. Dan tried not to fidget or think too much until Jones stepped back.

 

“There,” he said, “done. All neat. Proper big boy haircut.” He grinned at Dan. “Suits you.”

 

Dan’s hand came up to run through his hair, it felt much shorter, similar to before the window incident. He wanted to go to a mirror, but he felt trapped by the way Jones was smiling at him. “Thanks,” he said in the end. “Can I be a productive member of society again?”

 

“Bloody hope not,” Jones said. “But, you don't look so much like a homeless person anymore.”

 

“That’ll do,” he said.

 

“Right,” Jones said, stepping forward to grab the razor and scissors from the side. “I better get going.” He stopped when be pulled back and smiled at Dan. “You look good, Ashcroft, you’re gonna be beating them off with stick.” He paused and then burst into a wave of giggles. “That sounds well filthy. But, true probably. See you later.”

 

Dan couldn’t think of a single thing to say as Jones headed back to his bedroom and scooped up a new top. He slipped it over his head before fussing with his own hair in the mirror. Then, he was gone.

 

Dan blinked after him.

 

Jones had left the door to his room open.

 

He stared through the partially opened door for a long time. The bed was unmade and he could see Jones’ clothes from the day before still on the floor. He swallowed and got to his feet. He pulled the towel from around his waist and chucked it onto the sofa. Then he walked, like he was in a dream, into Jones’ bedroom and climbed into the bed. He lay on his back, breathing shallowly for a few moments, very carefully not considering what he was doing. He couldn’t smell Jones, but it was like his body wanted him to think he could, wanted to be able to feel the warmth of where he’d been sleeping the night before. He breathed deep and closed his eyes.

 

Dan stirred as Jones opened the door to the bedroom. It could have been minutes or hours later, he wasn’t sure. The light from the kitchen fell across the bed, casting Jones in silhouette before he came into the room. Dan had wondered if he might jump or scream when he realised Dan was naked and asleep in his bed. But he didn’t. Jones just paused at the bottom of the bed, watching Dan intently for a moment. Dan didn’t move. He barely breathed.

 

Then Jones took off his top, it was a t-shirt that he’d cut the sleeves off. It showed off his biceps and the dark hair on his forearms. Then it was on the floor. Dan sucked in a clearly audible breath. Jones didn’t speak as he unbuckled his jeans and peeled those off too. He was naked. No knickers for Jones. Dan nearly smiled, he would have, but his heart seemed to be beating strangely in his chest. Jones wasn’t hard, but his cock visably swelled as Dan watched it. It was big, bigger than he’d expected somehow. He licked his lips, let out a slow breath and pulled back the covers, shoving them off him and to the far side of the bed.

 

Jones’ eyes flicked down and then back up to Dan’s mouth before he moved, slowly, his eyes fixed on Dan the entire time. He came to the bed before crawling up it, following the path of Dan’s body. There was a buzzing in Dan’s head, every one of his nerves seemed to be vibrating gently, waiting for Jones to touch him. He stopped moving when his arms were bracketed above Dan’s head.

 

Somehow Dan’s breath had started coming in little pants. He couldn’t believe how excited he was and Jones hadn’t done anything at all. It was almost certainly fifty percent fear; he didn't know what he was doing, let alone what Jones was doing. But there was a healthy dose of anticipation and lust too. He wondered when the last time he’d felt that before sex had been.

 

It must have been the first time he was sober for sex in years. He’d had a couple of girlfriends, they only ever last a few months, and he’d had lots of sober sex with them. The rest of his experiences were drenched in alcohol or other stimulants, though. He didn’t mind that. He was better at sex with a few drinks in him. But it felt strange to be able to see everything so clearly, to be able to see the way the shadows played across Jones’ face as he watched Dan from just a few inches away. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

 

He shifted under Jones, arching up a bit. His body was fizzing with nervous energy and he found it hard to keep still. The movement seemed to break the trance Jones was in because he finally moved, leaning down to kiss him. Dan tried his best to meet him halfway, but the angle was strange, and Jones was pressing down hard into the kiss. There was a moment where Dan’s brain wanted to freak out. He was snogging a naked bloke. He was snogging a naked bloke because he was in that bloke’s bed, naked and waiting for him. That was surely wrong on some fundamental level. But, his cock did not seem to think so. He was so hard that he was already leaking and they were barely touching.

 

Dan opened his mouth, wanting to take some control, wanting to not think about anything for as long as he could manage. It was a good kiss, Jones was as enthusiastic in his kissing as he was in everything else. When he slid his tongue into Dan’s mouth, Dan gripped the sheet under him and tried to stifle a moan. He wasn’t entirely successful and Jones pulled back to grin at him. He dropped a kiss on the end of Dan’s nose. It was such an odd gesture that it made Dan smile unexpectedly.

 

Jones chuckled. “It’s alright,” he muttered. “I’ve got you.”

 

Dan wondered what that meant, but Jones was gone from his line of sight before he could figure it out. Dan peered down, watching as Jones moved down his body and took his cock into his mouth, apparently all in one fluid movement. He gasped as pleasure rolled out from his dick in intense waves. It wasn’t like he’d given any real consideration to what might happen when Jones got home, or only in the abstract. So now his brain was struggling to keep up with what was happening, caught and confused, like he might still be asleep and dreaming.

 

He reached out to grip Jones’ hair, not wanting to tug, but just needing to feel him there. His hair was soft, Dan noted, as he panted, unable to catch his breath. The wet heat of Jones’ mouth was so good he couldn’t seem to keep still. Jones was a pro. He kept up the suction, his cheeks hollowed as he worked Dan’s cock, sliding down and back up in a smooth, long motion. Then he brought his hand up to cup Dan’s balls and work the base of his cock.

 

“Fuck Jones,” he hissed, his hands moving to grip and let go of the sheets compulsively. He wanted to arch up but forced himself to keep still.

 

Jones was moaning around him and it was probably the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.  He forced his eyes open and stared down, wanting to see the way Jones’ mouth looked stretched around his cock. Jones chose that moment to look up at Dan through his fringe. The moment their eyes met Dan’s stomach twitched in pleasure. “So good,” he panted. The words just slipped out; Dan wasn’t normally much of a talker during sex. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling silly.

 

Jones hummed and Dan’s body locked, he groaned low and then he was coming. There wasn’t time for even a polite warning. He gasped and that was it. Jones appeared in his vision once Dan was able to regain use of some of his faculties.

 

He reached up to wrap a hand around the back of his head and bring him down into a hard kiss. Jones pressed down easily, kissing Dan back without any hesitation. Dan could taste himself on Jones’ tongue. It made him groan. He wasn’t sure what he ought to do now, but he at least had one experience to draw from.

 

He snaked his free hand down between them and took Jones in his hand. It was the first time he’d had a cock in his bare hand that wasn’t his own. It didn’t seem as awful when Jones was above him, eyes dropping shut and mouth slack and wet around a moan. “Fuck Dan, that feels so good,” he whispered.

 

It was all the encouragement he needed to start moving his hand. He tried to emulate what he liked, gripping firmly and twisting at the head. Jones was thrusting his hips to meet the motions, apparently as free and lacking in inhibitions in this as he was everything else. It was enticing, and Dan found himself wanting to coax as many noises and little twitches from him as he could. He worked his shaft in smooth strokes and brought his other hand up to cup his balls, lifting them up.

 

“Jesus,” Jones huffed and suddenly he was coming messily between them. It coated Dan’s hand and splashed against his stomach. Jones leaned down and kissed him hard through his orgasam, grunting into his mouth and rocking hard into his hand.

 

Dan would have expected to find being covered in someone else’s come disgusting. But if anything his spent dick gave a feeble twitch.

 

“That was amazing,” Jones panted into his mouth when he pulled back.

 

“Yeah,” Dan managed, not sure what else he ought to say.

 

“Here,” Jones said, reaching down to snag an old t-shirt from the floor and using it to clean Dan’s stomach and hand. Then he collapsed down next to him, his breath slowly evening out.

 

Dan lay still, not sure what he ought to do. Generally he was so pissed that at his point he’d pass out until the next morning, when one or the other of them could sneak out without much fanfare. Maybe he ought to go back to the sofa. That would be better. He had no idea what had just happened, what it could mean, but he was sure that it wouldn’t be good if he tried to talk about it. Would Jones want to talk about it?

 

Jones hummed next to him, rolling over and throwing an arm over Dan’s chest. It wasn’t exactly a hug but it was pretty close. “Night Dan,” he said, softly.

 

“Oh,” Dan said, feeling like a pillock. “Night Jones.”

 

He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, his mind was racing and every sense seemed to be alive for the first time in months. But Jones was breathing steadily next to him and his body was humming contentedly. He closed his eyes for want of anything better to do and was asleep before he realised it was happening.

 

**TBC**


	3. Get down, get low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dan, my petite fru fru,” Nathan said, his voice starting to get a harder edge to it. “We’re mates and I don’t wanna do nothing’s that gonna fuck you over. But, we have a contract. I don’t want to have to take legal action.”
> 
> “For what?” Dan said. “You think I own anything?”
> 
> “I could stop you working anywhere else,” Nathan said.
> 
> Dan closed his eyes. He would too. Nathan had the money to tie him up in court for years. Jones might be right on the technicalities but that wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t earn a living for years while he fought his way out of a contract. “What do I have to do?” Dan asked, the words tasting bitter in his mouth, like he’d eaten the entire contents of the ashtray in front of him.

He woke the next morning and immediately froze. Jones was still sleeping contently next to him. Dan wondered if he could slip out of the room before he woke up. He knew instinctively that it would be better for them never to talk about what had happened again. It wasn’t that Jones was a man. That, surprisingly, did not seem to be setting off anything apart from a vague sense of ‘huh’ in the back of his mind. But then there was probably a reason he’d put up so little resistance to the stupid story about it. No, the problem was that Jones was a friend. Which, in itself was ridiculous. But there was no denying it. Dan liked having him around, or at the very least, didn’t actively dislike it. It wasn’t worth messing that up, even for the best blowjob of his life.

It might be too late to pretend that it hadn’t happened, but he could sure as hell try. Maybe that worked better with men. He didn’t know. It wasn’t like Jones seemed to have had a lot of boyfriends since Dan had known him, or any that Dan knew of. Perhaps he’d be in total agreement that whatever last night had been, it was better not thought about again.

It wasn’t like Dan could have explained it even if he’d wanted to. He hadn’t wanted to think much about it before it had happened. It had been like some primordial force, pulling him towards Jones. He couldn’t explain it, but last night he’d never wanted anything more in his life. This morning… well, it didn’t much matter what he wanted because it was stupid.

He shifted, preparing to leave the bed. Of course Jones immediately stirred. Dan froze, watching the other man as he slowly opened his eyes. Jones blinked over at him and grinned sleepily. “Alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” he said, for want of anything better.

“I’m starving,” Jones said, clambering up and over Dan and out of the door. “We got any food?”

“Yeah,” Dan said after him, confused. Maybe he wasn’t the only one wanting to avoid the whole thing.

He pushed very firmly down on any feeling of potential disappointment and climbed out of the bed. He pulled on some jeans and helped Jones make breakfast. It should have felt weird. Dan tried to feel weird, but there was something so… _Jones_ about the way the other man was acting that he just couldn’t. Jones danced around the little space, humming to himself and talking about people and places that Dan didn’t know. It was soothing and Dan found himself making them food without having to think much about anything at all.

Maybe this was one thing he hadn’t managed to fuck up by being himself.

——

So of course rather than heading to the sofa to sleep when Jones left for the night, Dan went straight to the other man’s room. Some part of him couldn’t believe that it was really possible that nothing bad had happened. Maybe Jones just didn’t remember it. Maybe he regretted it and was hoping Dan would never mention it again. Maybe it happened all the time to Jones and so he didn’t think it was strange at all. Dan needed to know which it was, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. That and he hadn’t come that hard in his entire life and that wasn’t something his body seemed willing to just let go.

He lay, naked, under Jones’ sheets somewhere between awake and asleep as he waited. His body was vibrating with anticipation, an almost gentle hum as he tried to relax. There was also a layer of anxiety under that. Jones might kick him straight out of his bed, perhaps the previous night had been so unsatisfactory that he wouldn’t want Dan anywhere near him. The thought wasn’t quite enough to make him leave, although he did make sure to come up with a line about just wanting a decent night’s sleep off of the sofa.

It wasn’t needed. Dan was dozing by the time Jones was crawling up his body, kissing his stomach and taking Dan’s cock into his mouth. He jolted awake with a strangled moan. His hands went straight to Jones’ hair, resting gently, not guiding but also not wanting him to pull back either. Jones licked at the slit of his dick and Dan groaned and tugged at the strands of hair in his hands, making Jones moan around him. Dan tried to file that piece of information away in his lust-filled mind.

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the feeling of the tight, wet heat. It was incredible. Jones was working him fast, sucking him in all the way to the back of his throat before pulling back and running his tongue around the tip. It was all Dan could do to grip his hair and not thrust up.

He couldn’t help a pathetic little moan when Jones pulled off him with a frankly obscene popping sound. “You wanna fuck me?” he asked, a bit like he was suggesting a trip to the supermarket.

Dan blinked at him. “I…” he said. “Yes?” He hadn’t meant it to come out like a question. “We don’t have to… I just…” He felt silly, his brain was still fizzing with remembered pleasure, he couldn’t be expected to make any sort of rational decision.

Jones smiled at him and reached out to touch Dan’s cheek. “Yeah,” he said, like Dan had said something profound. “Okay.”

Dan wanted to ask what he meant but Jones was kissing him again and he forgot the question immediately. Jones lowered himself down so they were flush against each other. Dan could feel the hard, hot length of Jones cock pressed against his stomach. It sent a surprising jolt of lust through him. There was no denying it now; he was having sex with a man (again). And not for a story. By choice. But, what was more, he was loving it. The feeling of Jones cock was so exciting that he felt a frisson if electric tingle at the base of his spine. He arched up, wanting to feel more. It also had the added bonus of creating friction. They moaned into each others’ mouth.

Jones pulled back and leant over the side of the bed. Dan watched him through hooded eyes. When he sat back up, he was clutching a little bottle of lube and a foil wrapper. Dan’s dick twitched at the sight. He’d never tried anal, his girlfriends had never been into the idea, and to be fair, neither had he. Jones was uncapping the bottle before he could think of anything to say. “You done this before?” he asked.

Dan could only shake his head.

Jones grinned. “It’s genius,” he said. He poured some lube onto his hand. Dan didn’t even have a moment to be confused before he reached around himself and began preparing himself. Dan could only lie there, transfixed by the way a flush was slowly working it’s way up Jones’ chest as he worked himself open with his fingers.

“I…” Dan started and had to stop at the embarrassing break in his voice. “Should I...?” There was a vague sense that perhaps it was rude to let Jones do all the work, but he couldn’t deny he was enjoying the show.

Jones opened his eyes and licked his lips. “You… ah, _fuck_ … you want to?”

Dan wanted to be the reason Jones sounded like that. He nodded and reached out blindly for the bottle. He upended it and coated his fingers like he’d seen Jones do. The other man shifted forward moving over him so Dan could reach up. He didn’t let himself think as he pressed his fingers up and forward. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done his fair share of fingering when he was a teenager, he’d always fancied that he was pretty good at it. How different could it be?

Jones moaned the moment Dan sunk a finger inside the almost welcoming heat of him, and dropped his head forward. Dan took a moment to find the right position before he pulled back and added and second finger. He was gentle, Jones seemed incredibly tight and he didn’t want to hurt him, but the other man just moaned again and pushed back onto his fingers. He dropped his arms forward so he was basically on all fours above Dan, which gave him better access to move his fingers in and out of him, gently scissoring as he went.

“Dan,” Jones whispered.

Dan’s cock jumped and he added a third finger, not entirely sure what he was trying to achieve but Jones seemed to be relaxing above and around him. He moved his fingers around until he felt a soft ridge inside Jones. When he pressed against it the reaction was instantaneous. Jones bucked, cursing as he pushed back against his hand. Dan wanted to make him do it again. He got lost in watching the reactions he wrung from Jones just using his fingers. A thought started to form in the back of his mind that perhaps he could make him come like this. His cock twitched again.

“Fucking hell, Dan,” Jones whined what could realistically have been several hours later. “I’m ready just… come on.”

Dan startled at the words, having almost forgotten they were only at the foreplay stage of the evening. He pulled his fingers out and Jones moaned, dropping his head. Dan looked around for the condom, and noticed it discarded at the edge of the bed. He wiped his fingers on the sheets before retrieving and attempting to open it.

“You want me to be on top?” Jones asked, his eyes heavy.

Dan swallowed. “Yeah, I mean… whatever you think…” He felt like a tit. He hated being clueless in any situation but with sex it always made him feel especially small and silly. He gritted his teeth and pulled Jones down into a hard kiss. Jones fumbled the condom from his hands and finished ripping it open. He was sliding it down over Dan’s leaking cock before he really had time to consider his next move. He groped for the bottle of lube and coated himself.

Jones dropped another kiss on his lips before pulling off and sitting up on his knees. He took Dan’s dick in his hand, positioning himself and sliding down slowly.

“Fuck,” Dan hissed as he entered Jones. It was tight and hot, he slammed his eyes closed and tried to breathe deep. His abs were quivering with pleasure, heat pooling in his belly and Jones hadn’t done anything but sink down so he was sitting flush against Dan’s hips.

“God Dan, you’re bigger than I thought,” Jones muttered. “Fucking, ‘mazing.”

Dan groaned and reached up so he could rest his hands on Jones’ waist. The other man seemed to get the message because he started to move slowly, lifting himself up and sinking back down. The pace was maddening and exquisite all at once.

It became too much and not enough and Dan wanted to do something. He gripped Jones more firmly and rolled them over so he was on top. Jones grinned up at Dan, apparently delighted that Dan had decided to actually get involved. He threw a leg up over Dan’s shoulder and pulled him forward, forestalling any confusion over how this position might actually work. Dan was able to line himself back up and slip in with ease. Jones was loose and welcoming and Dan moaned low as he thrust in hard.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Jones grunted.

Dan started to move, the new angle was much deeper and he wondered if he might be able to find the right angle to hit Jones’ prostate. He tried a few different options but it was hard to tell because Jones moaned and wriggled and panted under him the entire time. It was driving him nuts. He sped up, desperate for release.

Jones took his own cock in his hand and began pumping it in time with Dan’s thrusts. The sight alone made him start to go a bit lightheaded and his hips stutter.

“So... Dan... Fuck,” Jones hissed as he came over his own belly and chest.

That was all it took for Dan to follow him with a few hard thrusts and a deep grunts. He leant down to capture Jones’ mouth in a kiss as he rode out the aftershocks, hips still moving forward in little desperate motions.

He pulled back slowly, trying to catch his breath for a moment before rolling off Jones onto his back.

The were silent for a long time, the only sound their shallow breathing. Dan wanted to say something, now would be a good time to say something. “Good… err… Good night?”

Jones laughed, soft and sleepy next to him. “Better once I got back here. That was amazing.”

Dan wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Yeah,” he managed after a moment. It was true. It was probably the best sex he’d had in years. Perhaps ever. Being sober helped, of course, but it was more than that. There was an ease with Jones that he hadn’t felt with most of his other partners, an implicit understanding that made everything seem less awkward and fraught.

Jones rolled over and threw an arm over him again. It seemed very much like a hug, but it was also… nice. Dan locked his body and didn’t move, unsure what the best thing to do now was. Nothing happened for a long time and he slowly started to relax again, his limbs going back to the boneless state they’d been in before.

“You always know you liked men?” he asked after the silence had stretched on peacefully for a few moments longer. He hadn’t slept with Jones to get more information out of him. The two things hadn’t seemed to connect in his mind. He’d wanted to have sex with him and he’d wanted to know more about him. But those were two entirely separate goals. Maybe because it was two entirely different parts of his anatomy thinking about them. But it was clear they weren’t sleeping and it seemed rude to ignore him entirely.

Jones lifted his head from where it was resting on Dan’s shoulder to grin up at him. “I’ve fancied blokes forever, yeah. Knew when I was tiny, though I didn’t know what it meant until later.”

“Was that…?” Dan wasn’t sure what he was asking. He didn’t know what it was like growing up poor in London. His parents weren’t rich, but they’d had jobs and a house. But even so, he didn’t think he’d have handled knowing he was gay well when he was young. He hadn’t seemed to handle anything well come to that.

“It was fine,” Jones said. “I mostly learned to hide it. Or at least, I didn’t say nothing about it. But people guessed anyway. I’ve always dressed like this, so…”

There was something unpleasant lurking under Jones’ words, Dan could sense it. He looked down at him. He couldn’t imagine bad things happening to him somehow, certainly not because people wanted to hurt him. Jones was like a beam of light, who would want to damage that? It made him feel resentful and angry, he wrapped an arm around Jones’ shoulder as though he could protect him from things that had happened years ago. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It was fine,” Jones said, although he nestled further into Dan’s arms.

“What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” he asked, wanting to test a theory that had been forming in the back of his mind. Jones didn’t seem to want to ever admit to things having been bad for him. He’d continually dodged any question that headed in that direction.

“Geez Dan,” Jones huffed. “This is the worst pillow talk ever. You can’t expect me to come up with anything sensible when you’ve basically just fucked me through the mattress.”

A sort of smug pride trickled up Dan’s spine. “You mean you usually have sensible thoughts?”

“Haha,” Jones said. “That sort of comedy genius what got you into journalism?”

Dan was smiling again. It was strange. “I think it might have been my devilish good looks and winning personality.”

Jones giggled, tucking his head into Dan’s chest. “You’re such a wanker.”

“And you’re a smooth talker.” His hand had found itself in Jones’ hair, running through the soft strands and pulling gently. Jones arched his head up into the motion, like a bloody cat.

“I’m going to sleep,” Jones said. “You can keep doing that until I do.”

Dan wanted to protest but Jones was warm and content and there didn’t seem any particular reason to start an argument.

Jones started snoring softly on his chest not long after. It was sort of nice, a bit like when he’d play his tunes so Dan could stop thinking and get some sleep of his own. He didn’t want to think about any of the reasons for that. He just wanted to sleep. And so he did.

——-

Dan dropped to his knees as the water fell about them in the tiny shower. Jones was still giggling about the possibility of Dan washing his hair for him. But Dan was more concerned about seeing if he could make him stop speaking entirely.

Jones had snuck into the shower behind Dan as soon as he’d pulled himself out of bed, alleviating any possibility that this was only something that was just going to happen in the dark hours of the night, never to be mentioned again. Not that Dan thought that. That would be a crazy thing to assume. He couldn’t even imagine it as Jones had sucked him off with such apparent delight in the early morning light.

He’d come so hard that he’d banged his elbow on the shower wall and been caught between post orgasimic haze and excruciating pain for a few minutes. When he came back to himself Jones was giggling madly, his hands still gripping Dan’s hips. “You alright?” he asked.

“I think I died,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to go from coming to banging your funny bone, it’s a cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Poor Dan,” he said, sliding surprisingly elegantly to his feet. “Kiss it better?”

“Shut up,” he huffed, but didn’t pull back when Jones rocked up on his toes to kiss him. Jones was wet and slick as he brushed and slid against Dan. He was also hard, his cock slipping across Dan’s belly.

“You wanna wash my hair for me?” Jones asked, his eyes sparkling. “Scrub my back?”

So Dan had done the only thing he could think of, turned them so he could crowd Jones against the wall and fell to his knees. He hadn’t been eye level with a hard dick before. It was surprisingly intimidating. But Jones had gone still the moment he knelt down, his breath hitching even over the sound of the shower. He started at the tip, wrapping his lips around it and flicking his tongue out over the slit. Jones’ back hit the wall with a thumb.

“Fuck Dan,” he breathed.

Dan’s mouth wanted to quirk into a grin. Instead he slid his mouth down slowly. It didn’t taste of anything, just water-warmed skin. Jones was big and he couldn’t get that much of him into his mouth, so he brought his hand up the grip the section he couldn’t, and pulled his mouth back up slowly. Jones’ hands were in his hair, tugging at the short strands. When Dan twirled his tongue around the tip of his cock, Jones groaned and pulled on his hair. That was probably enough teasing, he thought, sinking back down and hallowing his cheeks. The weight of Jones on his tongue was surprisingly erotic, Dan thought he understood why Jones seemed so happy to give him blowjobs. He used one hand to pin Jones to the wall, fingers splayed across his belly, and the other to work his cock. He sucked him hard, trying to relax his throat a bit.

Jones whined and squirmed above him, hands tugging on Dan’s hair hard enough to almost hurt. But that was good too. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when Jones came in his mouth, he’d been murmuring his name over and over for a few seconds but Dan was so caught up in the moment that he wasn’t expecting it. He swallowed almost automatically and even that wasn’t so bad. He pulled back to blink up at Jones through the falling water. He was panting against the wall. He turned the spray off before reaching down to cup Dan’s cheek. He ran his thumb along his cheekbone, the touch gentle.

“I like your hair like this,” he said softly, running his other hand through the short strands of Dan’s hair. “It makes your cheekbones look well good.”

The compliment was oddly personal and made Dan squirm. He struggled to his feet. “Well, at least I have one feature worth showing off.”

“Fuck off,” Jones said, shoving him gently. “I ain’t falling for that. You want more compliments, you’re gonna have to dish them out first.”

Dan couldn’t help the little smile at Jones’ outraged tone. “This a transactional relationship, then?”

The word slipped out without him meaning it to. He froze. He didn’t mean to imply anything. It was only the third time anything had happened between them. Besides, Dan didn’t have relationships. That wasn’t how his life worked. He got up, encountered multiple disasters, got drunk and went to sleep. There wasn’t time for anyone else in that sort of routine.

But Jones just laughed again. “Ain’t that all relationships? Otherwise they’re abusive or something, right?” He stepped by Dan, reaching out to grab a towel.

Dan let out a slow breath, maybe Jones hadn’t even noticed.

\-----

Dan’s life at least got a bit more interesting after that. Jones continued not to seem to want to talk about what was happening between them, which suited Dan. He wouldn’t know what to say anyway. Things tended to fall apart for Dan when it came to talking about them. He was content to just ignore the fact they were shagging every moment they were alone.

Otherwise, Dan continued much as he had been. He walked and went to his cafe. He wrote. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was that he was writing. But it was something. He tried not to think about it, lest it suddenly dry up again.

Nathan continued to call him and bug him about producing content for him. Dan toyed with the ideas of telling him to fuck off and giving in and writing something for him. Neither seemed appealing. He still needed the money but he’d rather punch himself in the face than help out Barley.

He was sat alone in the flat one afternoon when his phone rang for the third time that day. _Twat_ pulsed on the screen in time with the buzzing.

He took a slow drag of his cigarette and picked up the phone. “Nathan,” he said, trying to sound unaffected and not already irritated.

“Dan,” his name was an almost hysterical laugh on Nathan’s tongue. “I thought you might have jumped out of another window.”

Dan almost smiled. He was clearly getting to the other man. “Not yet,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“You’re late on delivering my content,” Nathan said. “I dunno what’s happening, but it’s getting well chilly here. You need to cough something up.”

“I don’t have anything,” he said. It was true, he might not be sure what he was writing, but he knew for sure it wasn’t what Nathan would want.

“Dan, my petite fru fru,” Nathan said, his voice starting to get a harder edge to it. “We’re mates and I don’t wanna do nothing’s that gonna fuck you over. But, we have a contract. I don’t want to have to take legal action.”

“For what?” Dan said. “You think I own anything?”

“I could stop you working anywhere else,” Nathan said.

Dan closed his eyes. He would too. Nathan had the money to tie him up in court for years. Jones might be right on the technicalities but that wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t earn a living for years while he fought his way out of a contract. “What do I have to do?” Dan asked, the words tasting bitter in his mouth, like he’d eaten the entire contents of the ashtray in front of him.

Nathan laughed again. “It ain’t a death sentence you ball sack. I just want some content. A few articles to show the preacher man is really working for us. Whatever you want.”

Dan rubbed his eyes suddenly feeling tired and old. “How many?”

“Eight.”

He might as well of said eight thousand. He couldn’t imagine writing that much content. Especially nothing that Nathan would want. “I don’t…” he didn’t have it in him to fight. “I’ll try.”

“Atta boy! Knew you’d come around.” Nathan sounded like they were talking about Dan coming along to his birthday rather than selling his soul to the devil. “I need it by end of next week or my lawyers are insisting they file the paperwork. I wouldn’t do it, but you know how lawyers are.”

Dan felt cold and sick. It had really started to feel like he’d be able to get away from it. He was stupid. He couldn’t form the words to tell Nathan to choke so he just hung up instead. He stared at the wall and tried not to think. It wouldn’t do any good. He was just as trapped here as he was in London. Nathan was still somehow able to reach across the channel and make he feel exactly the same as he did before the window incident.

He needed a drink.

——-

Dan’s fingers dug into Jones’ hips, keeping him in place as he fucked him over the counter. He’d been thinking about it idly over the day, looking at the counter and mentally calculating the height.

Jones hadn’t seemed to mind when Dan had crowded him against the door as soon as he arrived home. They’d kissed hungrily as though it had been days and not hours since they’d seen each other. Jones melted against him, hands reaching up to grip Dan’s hair. It felt good. So different to the women he’d been with, but exciting for that. Jones also hadn’t seemed to mind in the least when Dan pressed him against the kitchen counter and started undoing his belt.

“Fuck, Dan, yes… there, fuck that’s good,” Jones grunted as his hands scrabbled to get purchase on something on the counter so he could push back.

The sex remained electric. Dan’s skin tingled when he thought about it, itching to reach out and take. Jones felt as hot and tight around him as the first time and he simply couldn’t seem to get enough. Thankfully Jones didn’t seem to be complaining.

He reached around Jones to take his cock, hard and starting to leak, in his hand. “Yes,” Jones hissed.

Dan closed his eyes tight and tried to concentrate on finding the right angle. It was always easier with his eyes closed. It wasn’t that he was pretending it was anyone else. It just meant that he didn’t need to think about what it meant that it was Jones in particular.

He didn’t need to think about how much he wanted this. How he craved the touches. But also how much he’d grown used to the talking afterwards. To Jones asking how his day was. To Dan actually telling him. He didn’t want to think about those things. He didn’t know what it meant, but it was nothing good. He couldn’t picture a single outcome that made him think it was something good. So it was easier to do it hard and fast, to try and not get too mixed up in it.

Jones was moaning, squirming in a way that told Dan he was close. He sped up his hand and allowed himself to pound into him a little harder.

“Fuck,” Jones shouted as he came over Dan’s hand.

Dan followed him not long afterwards, hips stuttering and eyes screwed shut. There was a moment of blessed peace, where he was gone, floating in a haze of pleasure. He pulled out slowly, his heart hammering in his chest and breathing still uneven.

“Fuck, Dan,” Jones said, turning in his arms to kiss him soundly before wriggling away to start picking up his clothes. “What was that about?”

He watched him for a moment, not sure what lie he ought to come up with. “Nathan called,” Dan found himself saying.

Jones turned to raise his eyebrows at him. “That normally make you want to fuck?”

Dan scowled at him for even daring to make the joke. He disposed of his condom and joined Jones in the search for clothes. “It makes me want to blow my brains out,” he said as he pulled on his jeans.

“Yeah,” Jones said with a slow grin. “Sex is probably a better way to get out of your head. What did he want?”

“He said he’d take me to court, stop me writing for anyone else, if I don’t get him something.” He didn't look at Jones, eyes focused firmly on doing up his belt.

Jones didn’t suggest that he just write the articles, which Dan was grateful for. He couldn’t have bared having to explain what the idea felt like. Jones just nodded, a grimace on his face. “What you gonna do?”

Dan shrugged. “I’ll need to think of something to give him.” He had no clue where to even start to do that. It made him feel small, almost worthless. Surely he should be able to knock out a few meaningless articles. But the more the thought about it, the further the ideas seemed to slip from him.

“Do you think he really would?” Jones said. “He’s a moron, but surely he knows that suing the preacher man because he tricked him into signing a contract when he was in hospital isn’t… it’s going to look well bad, innit?”

“I think he’s just that stupid,” Dan said. “He’s a nasty, petty, little shit.” The ‘just like me’ went unsaid, but meant Dan couldn’t look at Jones.

“I can ask around if you want,” Jones said, “see if there’s anything you might wanna write about?”

He shrugged. He didn’t have a lot of other options, but the thought made him feel angry and twitchy. The peace of just moments before was gone completely. “Yeah, I’ll bet some of the idiots at your club know a thousand other equally vacious places to hang out.” It was a shitty thing to say. He knew that the moment the words were out of his mouth, but he couldn’t help it. The rage in his chest needed to go somewhere and Dan was used to directing it at whoever happened to be in range.

He turned to Jones, wanting to apologise, but Jones just grinned at him and shrugged. “Yeah, probably,” he said. “I’ll ask around tonight. Talking of which,” he nodded at the clock on the wall, “I gotta get going.”

The conversation was over, he realised. He watched Jones closely as he finished trying to arrange himself so he didn’t look quite as much like he’d just got fucked. His face was completely neutral. There was no sign of hurt at Dan’s words.

It should have been reassuring. Instead, something twisted in his stomach. He was used to getting reactions from people – mostly negative, he had to admit, but he got them. Jones’ apathy was unpleasant. It wasn’t like he wanted to be shouted out, or for there to be tears and recriminations, but the realisation was starting to sink in that Jones probably didn’t care. It wasn’t that he was just a very easy-going guy, it was that Dan didn’t matter all that much to him. Whatever was happening between them clearly didn’t have an effect on Jones at all.

He looked away and balled his hands into fists, feeling stupid. He’d started to think things were changing. He was writing again. He had something with Jones. He wasn’t in London and he was away from Nathan Barley. Only, none of that was true. This was all a dream, a short break from his terrible life. And now it was starting to creep back in through the cracks in his broken life. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever changed.

The anxiety in his stomach grew. He needed a drink.

——-

Jones didn’t wake him when he got home from the club. He left Dan where he’d passed out on the sofa. Dan tried not to care about that. He woke, cold and with the beginnings of a dreadful hangover the next morning. He didn’t have the energy to go for a walk, so he shuffled from the sofa to the kitchen and back, nursing his hangover rather than trying to shake it.

Jones didn’t seem any different than normal when he emerged from the bedroom. He just nodded at Dan with a grin and carried on with his day. Dan tried not to let that bother him. Surely it was a good thing. He’d had enough people nagging at him for drinking. It never achieved anything other than making him want to stop speaking to them. But the fact the Jones didn’t seem to care did bother him.

He felt off kilter and anxious all day, a tight ball of unidentified worry curling in his stomach. His mind kept chasing just a few thoughts around his head on a continuous, maddening loop. Nathan. The fact he couldn’t think of a single thing to write. Nathan. That he’d need to go back to London in a couple of weeks. Nathan. And Jones.

The last one bothered him the most. He didn’t really understand what his problem was, why he even cared what Jones thought or felt. But he did. He wasn’t sure how it had happened but ever since the accident, Jones had been a part of his life. An increasingly good one and he could already see it was going to slip away from him.

He stood in the doorway and watched Jones as he fiddled about with a t-shirt, ripping the arms and then taking some paints he’d acquired from somewhere to start creating a design on the front of it. It was calming watching him. Jones had looked up and given him a little grin when he’d appeared but otherwise had continued to hum under his breath as he worked, ignoring Dan’s presence.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked when he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

Jones shrugged. “Nowhere.”

The answer irritated him. Jones probably meant that he’d just done it himself without anyone explicitly telling him what to do. But it was also possibly another thing he didn’t want to talk to him about. “You eating here tonight?” His voice sounded clipped and annoyed which was a bit embarrassing.

Jones looked up at him. “You cooking?”

He shrugged. He wasn’t exactly good at it, but he’d picked up about four things that he didn’t always burn. “Would you like me to?”

Jones frowned. “Sure, if you want to.”

Dan balled his hands into fists. Why wouldn’t Jones just say what he wanted? He couldn’t figure it out. It wasn’t like he was worried what Dan thought of him. He said whatever he wanted about Dan’s life and hadn’t shown any concern over the change in their dynamic. But for whatever reason, he didn’t seem to think Dan was worth the trouble of telling him how he felt.

It was probably time they ended whatever was happening between them. The thought made the ball in his stomach clench harder, but at the same time, he knew he was right. He was starting to get attached. He was starting to care what Jones felt about him. That way only led to trouble.

He wasn’t about to be someone’s boyfriend. He didn’t want to tell Claire or his parents he was with Jones. He could picture their expressions; upset and worried and trying to hide it. He could imagine what other people would say. The thought made him feel a bit queasy. Fucking a guy was one thing. That was sex. But feelings? That surely made him gay. Only he wasn’t gay, he definitely liked women and so this thing with Jones was stupid. Besides, he’d never made it work when everything was seemingly stacked in his favour, there was no way he’d be able to make it work when it wasn’t.

Not that Jones seemed to want that anyway.

“I’m going out,” he found himself saying.

Jones was definitely frowning at him now. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you later then.”

His face contorted into a scowl without him giving it permission. He wanted to say something cutting, but Jones wasn’t even giving him enough to do that. He turned on his heel and stalked from the flat.

——

He walked for hours, ignoring the cold and trying to ignore his feelings at the same time. It didn’t work. By the time he was back at the flat it was late. He opened the door to find Jones in the kitchen.

He’d resolved to say something as soon as he saw him. To tell him they needed to stop. Instead he walked over to the other man and kissed him hard. Jones melted into his arms immediately.

As he took him into the bedroom he wondered what he was even doing. Why couldn’t he stop? He wanted to find the words to explain that he knew Jones didn’t care about him, that this couldn’t go on, but Jones was tugging at his clothes and they wouldn’t form.

It felt too good. Even as he dropped to his knees to suck him off, it felt good. Jones tugging on his hair and moaning above him felt amazing. He palmed himself through his jeans.

“Wait,” Jones said, pulling his hair again. “I wanna come with you inside me.”

Dan’s dick gave an urgent throb in his pants. He staggered to his feet and pulled Jones over to the bed. He usually liked all the prep that went into sex with Jones, the power of it, but he felt hot with impatience, some part of him wanting to be connected to Jones as soon as possible. Perhaps this would be the last time, he thought, as he rolled on a condom and pulled Jones hips towards him.

He blinked down at him, trying to imagine never doing this again. He felt sick and worried at the thought. Jones grabbed his hand, bringing him back to the moment, as though sensing that Dan had lost his train of thought. His eyes tracked back up to Jones’, blue and huge even in the dim light of the room.

He grinned up at Dan as he wiped his sweaty fringe out of his eyes. “Come on, Ashcroft,” he said, wriggling. “Get to it. I’m ready.”

Dan watched the spot where he entered Jones, wanting to remember how obscene it looked, how incredible it felt. He wanted to move in long, smooth strokes, but he was so turned on he couldn’t stop his hips from beating out a punishing rhythm. Jones met him thrust for thrust anyway, gripping Dan’s wrists where they held his hips.

He was close by the time he reached out to take Jones’ cock in his hand to start to work him. He’d been hitting his prostate with every stroke for awhile, though, so Jones went rigid almost immediately and came over Dan’s hand and his own stomach. The way Jones tightened around him as he came was enough to push him over the edge. He came with a low moan.

Jones reached out and pulled him down as soon as he’d pulled out, wrapping his arms around him. Dan had been planning to say something or at the very least go to the sofa. Instead he let Jones hum contently in his ear and place a sloppy kiss on his forehead.

“Genius,” Jones whispered into his hair.

Dan didn’t say anything.

TBC


	4. What’s your problem?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smiled again. “That’s not it, we’re not together,” he repeated, despite there being something about what she was saying that tugged at the back of his mind as being important. “He’s not interested.”
> 
> He realised that he should have said ‘I’m’ a little too late. The thought settled firmly in his mind, making him feel worse than ever. She stared up at him, a look of something like pity crossing her face. She reached up to cup his cheek. “You are very handsome,” she said, her pupils were wide and face flushed. Dan wondered if she had any left she might give to him.

Things didn’t change over the next couple of days. Dan avoided thinking about the issues with Nathan by fixating on ways to end whatever was happening with Jones, while remaining completely unable to do so when they were actually together. Jones didn’t seem to notice Dan’s changed mood, or at least he didn’t mention it. Dan could feel himself getting shorter and shorter in his interactions with the other man. Some part of him hoping that Jones might do something, perhaps show that he actually did care or break it off so Dan didn’t have to.  
  
He did neither. He seemed perfectly happy continuing on with his own routine, waiting for Dan to break and make a move to join him in bed, or the shower or once in the hallway outside their flat. He kept expecting that the sex would start to stop working like the rest of their relationship, but it didn’t. Which only made it harder to tell Jones that it had to stop. It never seemed to be the right moment.  
  
But it meant Dan couldn’t bring himself to say anything afterwards anymore. It felt dishonest and it would only make him feel worse or get more attached.  
  
“You wanna come to the club tonight?” Jones asked, towards the end of the week, as they lay on the floor of the living room, still panting and the result of their climaxes still sticking to their skin. “I know it’s not your thing, but there’s an exhibition of local art there at the moment. Just up Trashbat’s street. Might be worth meeting some of the artists and seeing if it’s anything?”  
  
Dan felt caught between gratitude and annoyance. Having at least one column might get Nathan off his back. And at least Jones cared enough to offer some help. Although, he supposed Jones had always done that. It didn’t mean anything. He shrugged, keeping his eyes firmly on the ceiling.  
  
Jones nodded. “I’ll put you on the list in case you fancy it later.” He pulled himself to his feet and went to the bathroom to grab a flannel and clean himself up. Dan could just make out his movements in the slightly open door on the other side of the room. He liked watching Jones, the way his compact body moved. He was graceful in a way that made Dan slightly envious and very turned on. He forced his eyes away and back to the ceiling.  
  
The flannel landed on his leg with a wet splatter as Jones hurried out of the bathroom and into the bedroom so he could get ready to go out. Dan lay on the cold floorboards until Jones had left for the evening, trying to muster the energy to clean himself up and put some clothes on.  
  
He was going to have to go to the club. The idea wasn’t appealing, but then he was out of options. He could use it to try and write at least one article. If he could do that, the others might come easier.  
  
He found clothes that were at least almost clean and tried to sort his hair a little before going out. It was the first time he’d been out for anything more exciting than a takeaway since the first time he went to see Jones play and he felt oddly jittery about it. Partly it was the idea of it being at ‘work’ for the first time since he got out of hospital, but it was also the idea of seeing Jones in the club again. The last time it had opened a whole can of worms and he was apprehensive about what might happen this time. He drank two bottles of beer before he left, hoping it would even him out.  
  
He found the club much more easily than the last time and shuffled to the front of the queue. It was the same doorman as last time. Dan raised his eyebrows at him in greeting. “Dan Ashcroft,” he mumbled  
  
“Dan!” The man said, his smile disconcertingly genuine. “The mysterious boyfriend appears again at last.”  
  
The world swam in front of his eyes for a moment. Boyfriend. There was no one but Jones that could have given him that title. The last time he’d very firmly been a friend. His heart started to hammer just as his stomach did an embarrassing little flutter of excitement. He shook his head, trying to clear it and form some words. “Mysterious,” he said, which was stupid and confusing for them both.  
  
But the doorman just laughed and ushered him toward the door. “Have a good night.”  
  
The club was just as heaving as the last time, a mass of writhing bodies and pulsing music. He pushed his way to the bar and ordered two shots. He downed them, trying to calm his nerves. The idea of Jones going around telling people they were boyfriends seemed utterly absurd. Surely he couldn’t really think that’s what they were.  
  
The idea left him feeling shaky and off kilter. He’d been convinced that Jones didn’t care about him at all but maybe he was wrong. He ordered two more shots and tried to figure out which would be worse. Another two shots later, he wobbled his way towards the huge installation of art covering the back of the club. It was mostly stencilled pieces, knock-off Banksys with less wit and skill. Jones was right, they were perfect for Trashbat. All pretend social commentary with no finesse and nothing new to say. He scowled at them for a moment before someone appeared at his side.  
  
“Jones,” he said, his heart hammering even through the blanket of booze he’d draped over himself. “These are fucking terrible.”  
  
Jones laughed uproariously. “I knew you’d like them. Shall I get the artist?”  
  
Dan wanted to say something, to ask about what the doorman had said, but he couldn’t form the words. He shrugged. Jones turned to push back through the crowd but Dan’s hand shot out to grip his wrist. He stopped immediately and turned back to look at Dan, a little frown on his face. Dan wanted to pull him close and ask him what was happening, but he also wanted to shove him. Push him around a bit until Jones lashed out and left. He stared at him through the flashing lights, trying to figure out what he was thinking when he looked at him. His blue eyes were puzzled but not concerned. “Do you-” Dan started. “Did you tell the doorman we’re boyfriends?”  
  
Jones grinned at him. “Nah,” he said. “But we live together and I talk about you all the time. People love to gossip. I just let them get on with it.”  
  
Dan studied his face and let out a slow breath. He was telling the truth. Jones wasn’t the sort of person to offer up any information about his personal life and there was always gossip. He felt a stab of disappointment and anger which surprised him. He let go of his wrist. “Okay,” he said. He couldn’t seem to look at him.  
  
“Cool,” Jones said, his posture unconcerned. “Hang on here, let me find her.”  
  
Dan watched as he disappeared into the crowd. He felt confused by his own reaction. He ought to be pleased that there didn’t seem to be anything to break up between them. He could just stop having sex with him and then it would be over. But the thought didn’t make him feel happy, despite trying to force it.  
  
He looked around, the room was starting to blur at the edges. He felt lost. It wasn’t an unusual feeling but it had started to fade over the last few weeks. He hated it, his hands starting to tingle with anxious energy.  
  
Jones appeared again after a few minutes. There was a woman by his side, she was probably in her early twenties, blonde and blue eyed. Perky. She smiled brilliantly at Dan.  
  
“This is Alexa,” Jones said. “She’s an agitprop artist.”  
  
Dan stared at her. “Of course she is.”  
  
“Dan Ashcroft,” she said, her accent think but English perfect. “I am happy to meet you. What do you think of the installation?”  
  
“It’s…” Jones had already melted away into the crowd. “What is it?”  
  
“It’s an exploration of the self through the medium of music,” she said. She turned to point things out on the wall behind her.  
  
Dan listened to her talk. Or rather he let her words wash over him without taking any of them in. He couldn’t even seem to care that the installation was terrible. It really was. But it didn’t seem to matter. He felt about as connected to it as he did to the idea of dark matter and black holes.  
  
“Drink?” he asked when she’d stopped speaking.  
  
She blinked at him for a long moment. “Okay,” she said eventually with a little shrug.  
  
He turned toward to the bar without waiting to see if she’d follow. She appeared at his elbow a few seconds later.  
  
“Didn’t you have any questions about the piece?” she asked, a frown on a her face.  
  
“What didn’t you already tell me?” Dan asked, as they shoved their way forward toward the bar.  
  
“Well,” she faltered for a moment but rallied quickly before starting another monologue. To think Dan used to bother coming up with questions. He was almost impressed with her ability to continue to talk.  
  
They reached the bar and he motioned for two shots. The barman nodded with a smile. “You know Jones?” he asked, at the next break, handing over her drink.  
  
“Yeah, he’s got a residency here,” she said.  
  
“What do you think of him?” He slammed his glass back on the counter and asked for another.  
  
She frowned. “He’s fine,” she said. “I mean… He’s not crafting something in the same way as what we’re doing with the Train Collective but-”  
  
Dan tuned her out again. Where was Jones anyway? Why wasn’t he here if he wasn’t playing already? He looked around but couldn’t see any sign of him.  
  
The woman, he should probably have thought to write down her name, was looking at him. That probably meant it was his turn to speak. “You wanna dance?”  
  
She looked at him before shrugging. She was elegant. There was something in the way she held herself that was compelling. It was probably just her rich parents showing through, but whatever, it would be nice to dance with her. Or more likely, sway near her.  
  
They pushed their way onto the dance floor for what might have been ten minutes or ten hours. It was hard to tell through the haze of alcohol and music that didn’t seem to start or end. Dan tried not to think at all, especially not about Jones. But it was like he was everywhere. In the pounding music, and hot press of bodies, in the way his heart beat in time with the shaking of the ground.  
  
Dan had been rejected many, many times in his life. It wasn’t exactly a new feeling so he wasn’t sure why this one was even bothering him. Perhaps it was because Jones had always previously been the one that was there for him, and so uncomplicated. Having that taken away from him felt like an especially cruel blow.  
  
He should talk to Jones about it, end things cleanly so they could both move on, perhaps have a friendship out of it. But he couldn’t think of the words. He’d always been rubbish at those sorts of conversations. Probably because mostly he’d only been on the receiving end of them. He’d grown used to knowing which levers to pull to make sure that someone ended things with him without him ever having to say a thing. It meant he never saw them again, usually, which wasn't ideal in this situation, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. He’d failed to do anything else about it.  
  
It was that thought that made him press forward, moving closer the artist, who he still hadn’t managed to catch the name of. She came to him easily enough, pressing closer as they swayed clumsily to the music. He smiled at her, hoping he seemed happier than he felt. She was just as pretty up close. But the thought was distant and he didn’t feel anything about it. The wrongness of that made him feel a bit queasy. He pushed it away and leant forward, pressing a kiss to her lips.  
  
“Aren’t you Jones’ boyfriend?” she asked, leaning back out of range.  
  
“Apparently not,” Dan said, his voice more slurred than he expected. His head was spinning and he couldn’t seem to focus on what his next words ought to be. There was some combination that would probably make her kiss him back and then he might be able to forget the tight ball of upset in his stomach.  
  
“That’s not what he said,” she countered, her eyes narrowed. “I am not interested in being a… third wheel?” She said the phrase as though testing out something alien.  
  
He smiled again. “That’s not it, we’re not together,” he repeated, despite there being something about what she was saying that tugged at the back of his mind as being important. “He’s not interested.”  
  
He realised that he should have said ‘I’m’ a little too late. The thought settled firmly in his mind, making him feel worse than ever. She stared up at him, a look of something like pity crossing her face. She reached up to cup his cheek. “You are very handsome,” she said, her pupils were wide and face flushed. Dan wondered if she had any left she might give to him.  
  
He grinned down at her. No other words came to him and so he leant down again to press another kiss to her lips. This time he arched up to meet him. It was a nice kiss. There was no doubt that he should have enjoyed it.

He didn’t.

It made him feel queasy and confused. He pulled back. “Your display is nice,” he lied, feeling like the worst person ever to have lived. “I have to go.”  
  
He stepped back and turned to push through the crowd.  
  
Jones was standing just behind them, eyes narrowed and focused. Dan froze, cold dread flooding over him. There was a brief moment where he wondered if it was possible that Jones hadn’t seen, but it was clear that he had. It was what he’d wanted. He’d hoped that Jones might see, might finally do something to bring whatever they had to an end. But, as soon as he’d kissed her, he knew that wasn’t what he’d wanted at all. So, now, confronted with the reality that he’d fucked it up, he felt sick with fear. He didn’t want to lose the only good thing in his life. The only good thing he’d had in years.  
  
“I’m going home,” Jones shouted over the music. “See you later.”  
  
Dan had expected to hear something like anger or hurt in his voice, but there was nothing like that. He sounded completely normal.  
  
“I’ll come with you,” he shouted back, feeling lost and afraid.  
  
Jones shrugged a shoulder and turned to make his way through the crowd. Dan followed him until they were outside, feeling small and unsure. Jones was walking quickly, but Dan’s longer legs meant that he could keep pace with him easily enough.  
  
They didn’t speak as they started to walk back towards the flat. Jones seemed tense, his face locked tightly. Dan’s felt much more sober in the cold air, but he was still stumbling slightly as he kept pace. “Jones,” he started, a few streets later. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t,” Jones said, his voice flat. “It’s fine. There’s nothing to apologise for.”  
  
That was wrong on every single level. “You told her we’re boyfriends,” he said, the memory swimming to the front of his hazy recollections of the night suddenly. “It wasn’t just people talking, you told them we’re together.”  
  
Jones turned to look at him, but he didn't stop walking, if anything he picked up the pace. “Well we clearly ain’t, so it don’t matter.”  
  
They were nearly back to the flat, they turned into the street and walked quickly to the door of their building. Dan tried to figure out what Jones could have meant as they walked. There was surely some meaning in his words, but he couldn’t pull any to the front of his mind. “You aren’t mad at me?” he asked as they climbed the stairs to their flat.  
  
Jones sighed. “No, Dan, I ain’t mad at you.”  
  
He frowned at him as Jones unlocked the door and went inside. “You should be,” he said. He was starting to move from confused and scared to annoyed. “How can you not be angry?”  
  
Jones turned to stare at him, his face impassive. “Let’s just forget it. It don’t matter.”  
  
As he took in the calm expression and reasonable tone, Dan’s own annoyance bubbled over. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he hissed. “Are you seriously telling me you don’t have any feelings about what happened tonight?”  
  
“What the fuck Dan?” Jones said, taking a step back at Dan’s angry tone and frowning. “What the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
“Everything’s wrong with me!” he said, gesturing wildly which threw him off balance. He clung to the kitchen counter for a moment before he could right himself. “Not that you give a shit.”  
  
“You’ve gone fucking mental,” Jones said, a flash if anger crossing his face. He turned to leave the room. “What is your problem?”  
  
“This isn’t about me,” Dan said, feeling that was a list far too long to go into. He stepped forward, blocking Jones’ path. “This is about you. You never want to show anything affects you. Nothing I do, nothing from your childhood, nothing at the club. It’s not normal.”  
  
“Maybe nothing does bother me,” Jones said, “I know you think you’re the centre of the universe, Dan, but maybe you just aren’t that important to me.” But Dan could see now that he was lying. That flash of anger was too clear and now he could see the frustration building up just under the surface. He just needed to find a way to bring it out.  
  
“I leave my stuff all over the flat,” Dan shouted, gesturing around them. “I don’t clean at all, in fact. I’m moody and after I came out of hospital I didn’t speak to you for nearly a month.”  
  
“It’s your life,” Jones said, his eyes wide. “I ain’t here to tell you how you ought to be.”  
  
“But apparently you want to be my boyfriend!” The words sounded palpably ridiculous the moment they were out. But the alcohol still pumping through his system made the words keep forming without him giving them permission. “She told me you told her I was your boyfriend and then I kissed her and you don’t… You must have some feelings about that.”  
  
“What do you want, Dan?” Jones shouted, his face suddenly a mask of fury. Dan felt a flash of pride followed swiftly by apprehension. “You want me to scream and shout? Punch you and storm out into the night so you can chase after me?”  
  
“I don’t know!” he shouted back, already getting the impression that things were getting away from him. “But, I never know… Nothing ever seems to bother you. It’s not normal. It’s like you don’t even care.”  
  
“I don’t fucking care?” Two spots of colour stained his face, high on his cheekbones.”I fucking… I stuck by you the entire time you had your little episode. I got you a ticket out here. I let you stay here for free and, this may have escaped your notice, you sanctimonious tit, but I’ve been sucking your cock every day for weeks. Which part of that is meant to show I don’t care?”  
  
He was right. There was absolutely no denying that he was right. The thought should have made him back down. But no Ashcroft had backed away from a fight in centuries. “It’s not normal for you to never… Things must bother you! It’s like you’re some sort of robot, gliding through life with nothing ever touching you.”  
  
Jones seemed to sag for a moment before he rallied, drawing himself up and stepping into Dan’s personal space. “Is that really it?” he asked. “That I try not to let things bother me no more? You think I should just be like all them other people who I grew up with? Bitter and twisted because me mum and dad didn’t want me, that I had to go into care when Nan died and got the shit beat out of me every day at school for being a fag. What would that fucking do, Dan? Other than make you happy? Why should I let them fucking win? So you can fuck around on me. That’s fine, whatever, that’s up to you. But, I don’t have to deal with things that make me miserable. I ain’t you, hoarding every bad thing that’s ever happened to me so I can feel sad and fucking _artistic_.”  
  
It was the most he’d ever heard Jones talk, he was still trying to process it when he realised that the other man was crying. Not heavily, just a couple of tears that had leaked out of his right eye and were tracking down his face. “I don’t-” he started, not sure what he particularly wanted to deny. “I don’t want you to be sad.” It was stupid and inadequate, but at least true.  
  
Jones sniffed. “Fucking strange way of going about it,” he said, wiping furiously at his eyes.  
  
“I just…” Dan started, he was realising that he’d got everything completely wrong and it left him floundering. He was reeling from the realisation that there was so much more to Jones, just under his carefully constructed, cheery facade, but he needed to say something, show that he had some point. “I’m shit to live with, I’m a bully too… I don’t want to- I don’t want to hurt you and for you to-”  
  
“I ain’t a pushover,” Jones said softly. “It’s not like you’re treating me like shit or nothing.”  
  
Dan sighed, feeling both defeated and wanting to round up every single person who had made Jones think he should settle for so little and make them watch Trashbat on repeat for the rest of their lives. “That’s all you expect of me? Not to be a completely abusive shit?”  
  
Jones rolled his eyes. “You are so fucking weird. Most men would be happy with someone that shut up and sucked dick like I do.”  
  
“I am,” Dan said. He stopped abruptly, realising it was true. He was happy with Jones. He liked whatever was going on between them. The thought was terrifying. It was what was making him crazy, he knew suddenly. He swallowed heavily and tried to put something into words. That was meant to be what he was good at after all. “But I don’t know if _you_ like it. I can’t tell if I’m actually pissing you off or not.”  
  
“You are such a needy twat,” Jones huffed. But he was starting to smile. “Fine, if it means that much to you. It pisses me off that you never hang up the bathmat when you’re done in the shower. It makes it smell like pond in there.”  
  
That should not have made Dan feel fond of him. But it did. “Okay,” he said. “I… I’m never going to remember to do that. But, I’ll… I’ll try and remember that it pisses you off.”  
  
There was a long silence where Jones looked at his feet and scuffed his boot over the floorboards. “This conversation isn’t fun,” he said, sounding like a little kid, petulant and sulky. “It’s shit when we could have just not done it and gone to the bedroom and fucked.”  
  
Dan smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “But one day you’d end up strangling me with your straightener cord because I forgot to pick up my socks or something.”  
  
“Are you lecturing me on healthy coping mechanisms?”  
  
“I interviewed someone about them once,” he said. “Besides, I said do as I say, not do as I do.”  
  
“That is bullshit,” Jones said pointing one of his stumpy fingers at Dan. “You gotta do something if I’m having this shitty conversation again.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes, he could sense he was about to be outmaneuvered but was powerless to stop it from happening. “Like what?”  
  
“Publish your writing on a blog. I’ll set you one up.” Jones crossed his hands over his chest and glared at him.  
  
“That’s not the same.” He didn’t bother to ask how Jones knew he was writing again, it didn’t matter.  
  
Jones shrugged. “Never said it was, but it’d be good for you. Like eating your greens only for your soul or something.”  
  
“Why? No one’s going to give a shit-”  
  
“Then it don’t matter does it?” Jones said, his perceived ‘checkmate’ hanging clearly in the air between them. “You can send it to people if you interview for new jobs, they’ll see what you’re writing about.”  
  
“I’ll think about it.” Dan was not going to think about it.  
  
“I’m setting up the blog,” Jones said. “You just think about what you’re going to post.” He walked by Dan and into the bedroom.  
  
Dan blinked after him, wondering what had just happened. It seemed like they’d had a huge fight because Dan had massively fucked up. But, it didn’t seem like Jones was never going to speak to him again. Something wasn’t right there.  
  
“You coming in here and fucking me or what?” Jones called after a few moments.  
  
Dan’s legs carried him to the bedroom before his mind had even fully made sense of the words.  
  
——  
  
He felt better the next morning. Well, he felt horrendously hungover, and then crushingly embarrassed about pretty much everything he’d said and done. But Jones rolled over and kissed him on his cheek and Dan felt marginally better. “I don’t want you to kiss other people,” he whispered, moving over so he couldn lay his head on Dan’s chest.  
  
Dan wanted to smile and given that Jones couldn’t see it, he let himself. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t then.”  
  
Jones wrapped an arm around his waist. “I don’t like talking about this shit, Dan. I made a promise to myself that after everything when I was younger, I was only going to enjoy my life, I don’t have time for feeling like shit,” he said. “I thought I was safe with you because you’ve never had a difficult conversation in your life if you could avoid it.”  
  
“I was fucked out of my mind last night,” Dan reminded him. “But I didn’t want to… I’m sorry I hurt you.”  
  
“You’re such a drama queen,” Jones said, sounding confusingly fond rather than angry like Dan expected. “If you wanted to be my boyfriend, you could have just asked instead of making a scene.”  
  
Dan wanted to blush. “Says the man running around Berlin telling everyone we already are boyfriends without mentioning it to me.”  
  
Jones buried his face in Dan’s chest, but he could see the faint flush on his cheeks. “Shut it,” he said. “They really did just assume at first but then… I dunno, it seemed alright to tell people. I didn’t think you’d ever find out. Truth was, I thought you’d have freaked out and broken it off by now.”  
  
“Me?” Dan said, feeling exposed and embarrassed. “Freak out? You don’t know me at all.”  
  
“Sure,” Jones said, lifting his head so he could grin up at him. Dan knew he was about to say something terrible before he even opened his mouth. “You going to let me fuck you now we’re boyfriends?”  
  
Dan knew it was meant as a joke, a challenge to make him back down or show weakness. But his dick did not seem to get that memo, it throbbed gently, his morning wood swelling to press against Jones’ hip. He arched up, pressing against him.

He’d thought about it. It was hard not to, the way Jones writhed and begged, making it seem like it was a pretty good time. He’d just never had any idea how to communicate that idea to Jones. Instead of saying any of that, he sighed dramatically, feigning great suffering. “Are you going to tell me your real name first?”  
  
Jones’s eyes widened comically at the way Dan rubbed himself against him. It wasn’t easy to surprise Jones, which meant Dan was making it his mission to do so whenever he could. Then he slowly smiled. “This some sort of trade thing?”  
  
“Might be,” Dan said, feeling giddy with excitement and confusion. He’d expected to wake up alone and sad. This was much better.  
  
Jones pretended to think for a few moments. “It’s Ray,” he said.  
  
Dan couldn't keep the look of utter surprise off his face. “Really?”  
  
“Yes,” Jones said, starting to look affronted. “What, you saying it’s too butch or something?”  
  
“No!” Dan said. “It’s so… boring.”  
  
“Oh fuck off,” Jones said, punching him lightly on the arm. “It were my dad’s name. Piece of shit that he was. I never liked it, so I went by Jones - my nan’s surname.”  
  
“Huh,” Dan said. “So your name’s actually Ray what?”  
  
“Ray Smith,” Jones said, his face defiant, daring Dan to say something.  
  
“Okay,” Dan said, schooling his face very carefully. He sensed they were on very dangerous territory. “Well, there we go then. I think I’ll just call you Jones, if that’s okay.”  
  
Jones relaxed slightly. “You do that,” he said.  
  
They stared at each other for a long time. “Well?” Dan said eventually.  
  
“Well what?” Jones said, his face genuinely confused.  
  
“You collecting on the other side of this bargain or what?” Dan felt embarrassingly pleased with himself when Jones grinned brilliantly at him.  
  
“You better fucking believe it,” Jones said. “But you’re making me breakfast first. Don’t think I’ve forgotten last night; you’ve got some making up to do first.”  
  
Dan sighed dramatically. But the tight knot of fear he’d felt when he’d realised that Jones was watching him kiss someone else formed again at the reminder of what he’d done. He didn’t want to feel like that again. He was used to letting people down, but it was different with Jones. He wanted to be different and for the first time in years it felt like he might actually be able to be. Perhaps it was because Jones didn’t seem to expect him to be, it was like a challange to show that Jones was wrong. That he desverved more. “Fine,” he huffed, wriggling out from under him and out of the bed. “But I don’t think there’s actually all that much to eat, so you’ll have to make do with toast and coffee.”  
  
“Sounds amazing,” Jones said, as Dan headed into the kitchen.  
  
Dan smiled.  
  
\-----  
  
“Here,” Jones said, turning the laptop, “someone at the club set this up for you.” It was a few days later, and Dan had still been basking in a post-cotyle haze when Jones had disappeared and returned with his laptop. He hadn’t thought it was possible for them to have more and better sex, but apparently he was wrong, because after their fight they’d managed to find a whole new gear. Dan was spending more time horizontal than after he got out of hospital. But in a much more enjoyable manner.  
  
Dan blinked at the screen. It was a very simple website, “Dan Ashcroft, freelance writer” was written across the top of the grey page. He stared at it for a long time before looking back up.  
  
“I told you,” Jones said, “I don’t care what you put up there, but you should put something.You just need to set up the password and it’s all yours.”  
  
Dan’s stomach twisted. It was a stupid idea, far apart from the fact that he didn’t have anything to say, people wouldn’t care even if he did. On top of which Nathan was threatening to sue him if he wrote for anyone else.  
  
“Look,” Jones said. “You can put old articles up there and use it as somewhere to send editors to show them how you write. This was the deal, remember?”  
  
“You get to tell me I’m shit whenever you feel like it, and I get to make a tit of myself on the internet?” Dan said, looking up at him. “What’s in this for me?”  
  
“My sweet ass?” Jones said with a ridiculous wink.  
  
It made Dan’s mouth twitch.  
  
“There,” Jones said, pointing at it gleefully. “I knew it, that was nearly a smile. That part of your mouth right there thinks this is a great deal.”  
  
“I’m having a stroke,” Dan snapped, but his traitorous mouth was still trying to smile.  
  
“Well,” Jones said with a shrug, “better hurry up and get something uploaded in that case. Just set up a password for now and we can talk about the rest another time”  
  
That didn’t actually seem that hard and so with only minimal huffing he did as Jones instructed. Then Dan kissed him so they didn’t need to talk about it anymore.  
  
——-  
  
After they admitted they were in an actual relationship he expected things to change, but they didn’t really. Jones would sometimes come on his walks with him if he was awake when he left, but otherwise, things were exactly the same. It was a relief and meant Dan could push thoughts of what had happened, that they were now boyfriends, out of his mind. It was much easier when he didn’t think about it.  
  
Nathan continued to call. Dan ignored him, but the feeling of apprehension rose in him everytime he did. The day after the incident at the club he tried to write a review about the installation. Nothing came. He couldn’t work up any real feeling about it. He slammed the laptop closed after a fruitless hour and went home.  
  
He started to become acutely aware of time ticking away. Jones’ residency was coming to an end and they were due to fly back to London in a couple of weeks. The fear of what was waiting for him was making it hard to sleep. He could feel the reality of being back in London like a weight around his neck. He tried not to take that out on Jones, and was about twenty percent successful, he tried to think of it as a win.  
  
Another couple of days ticked by before something happened. He was walking near Checkpoint Charlie, staring at the relics of the past when something Jones had said weeks before sparked in the back of his mind. He kept walking, trying not to look directly at the idea. It was a small, fragile thing that needed nursing if it was going to grow into something more. He walked slowly his cafe, looking at fragments of the Berlin Wall as he went, thinking about the deep scars on show all around him.  
  
He got to the cafe and sat down slowly before pulling out his laptop. He kept his mind carefully blank while it booted up and then stared at the screen for a long moment. Then he very slowly wrote a sentence and instead of immediately deleting it, he wrote another and then another. The words, for the first time in months, poured out him, like they were already neatly lined up, waiting for him to write down. He stayed there, drinking coffee until the owner ushered him out a few hours later. He went back to the flat and continued writing. It was dark and quiet by the time he was finished.  
  
He looked at the words for a long time before saving the document carefully and sitting back in his chair. He felt shaky. He hadn’t written in so long that he wasn’t used to the feeling, the rush of seeing his words appear like magic in front of him. He was used to the wrung out feeling it left him with, but not the triumphant pleasure he felt now. He shut the laptop and went to take a shower.  
  
He could hardly bring himself to read it the next day, terrified that perhaps it had all been a dream. He paced the flat for awhile before forcing himself to sit down and open the laptop. He read the words slowly. It was clunky, some of the ideas cliche and embarrassing, not to mention the structure was muddled. But it wasn’t awful. He stared in wonder for a moment before he started editing it.  
  
Jones didn’t mention anything when he stumbled out of the bedroom to find Dan completely absorbed in the work. It was another two days before it was even close to finished. He read it over and over until the words almost seemed lose all meaning.  
  
Dan waited another day before he looked up from the screen across the room, to where Jones appeared to be spray painting some of his clothes. “Jones,” he said, his voice sounding embarrassingly unsure.  
  
Jones looked up at him before climbing to his feet and coming to join him in the kitchen. “Yeah?”  
  
“I wrote something,” he said.  
  
“Okay,” he said. “For Trashbat?”  
  
Dan shook his head. “No, I don’t know for where, but…” He turned the computer around.  
  
Jones looked startled. Dan had never asked him to read anything of his before. He hadn’t asked anyone to, but it seemed right this time. Jones didn’t ask any questions, he just took the laptop from him and went to sit down on the sofa with it.  
  
Dan watched him for as long as he could stand it, but his face didn’t change at all. In the end he stood up and made tea, lit a cigarette. Jones still hadn’t said anything when he’d smoked it down to the filter. “Well?” he snapped, unable to hold it in any more.  
  
Jones blinked like he was coming out of a trace. He looked up at Dan, his eyes wide. “You have to publish it,” he said. “Dan it’s… put it up on the blog.”  
  
As soon as the words were out of Jones’ mouth, Dan knew that he’d written it with exactly that in mind. “No one will even read it,” he said.  
  
“Have you seen how many subscribers you have already?” Jones asked, and then shook his head before Dan could answer that he hadn’t and that he didn’t even really know what that meant anyway. “You should publish it.”  
  
He shook his head. “Later,” he said. The thought of it was making him feel shaky. He could wait a few days. He didn’t need to do it now. He just needed to gather himself.  
  
Jones nodded. “Come here and let me show you how, though,” he said, beckoning him over.  
  
He couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse so he did as he was told. Jones moved immediately so he was pressed right the way down his side.  
  
“Right,” he said. “Just pop in your password first.”

Dan leant over and did as he was told, watching the screen layout change as soon as the page refreshed.

“Let’s see,” Jones said, his voice serious. It made Dan want to kiss him. He dragged his eyes back to the screen. “This what you want to call it?” Jones asked, highlighting the first sentence of the word document.  
  
He nodded. _“The death of Dan Ashcroft”_ disappeared for a moment as Jones went back to the bowser, then appeared again on the other screen, in a small box at the top of the page. It made him feel sick and he closed his eyes.  
  
“Right,” Jones said, “so, that’s where the headline goes. Then you just copy the rest and paste it here.” His words were slow and soothing as he went through the motions, the rest of the article appearing in a bigger box on the browser. Dan could see the first familiar sentence before he looked away. “Then,” Jones said, looking at Dan for a moment, “you just publish it by clicking here.”  
  
Dan knew what he was about to do moments before he did it. He lunged at the laptop, but Jones was much too fast for him. “Fuck you,” he spat, springing to his feet. “How dare you.”  
  
Jones was on his feet too, his face determined. “Dan,” he said. “You wouldn’t have done it. You know you wouldn’t. But you needed to, it was killing you, keeping all of that inside. I’m sorry I tricked you, but… I’m not sorry I done it.”  
  
Dan’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. Jones was right, of course, it seemed to be a theme with him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t furious. “Delete it,” he said.  
  
Jones shook his head. “No,” he closed the laptop and put it down carefully. “Dan, just wait. People are going to… Just wait.”  
  
“Fuck you,” he said, and turned and stalked from the flat, slamming the door on the way out.

Helpless rage filled his chest as he walked. He’d trusted Jones, against his better judgement, he’d trusted him to read something so personal that it might as well have been a sex tape. It was worse than a sex tape, really. It was his whole life over the last few years, the fear and confusion and rage. The drinking and the fuck-ups. Nathan. And now everyone would be able to read it. They’d know exactly how the preacher man had killed him and he wanted to scream. He wanted to drink, to walk into traffic. He balled his hands into fists and slammed out of the building onto the street and away.

**TBC**


	5. Okay, now what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had been a huge, almost instantaneous, reaction to it when it was posted. Apparently people had noticed that he’d created a blog and were waiting for him to publish something. His article was still being shared widely over a week later, and there was an overwhelming number of comments on the original post. Dan couldn’t bare to read them. He wasn’t sure if the ones calling him brave or a terrible person were worse.

It was dark by the time he found himself back at the flat. Jones jumped to his feet when he opened the door. Dan scowled; he’d assumed he’d be at the club already.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dan,” Jones said, his eyes wide. “I fucked up.”  
  
Dan turned to glare at him, but couldn’t think of anything to say.  
  
“You’re right, it wasn’t my place. I was going to take it down, but it’s already gone viral and-”  
  
“What’s that mean?” Dan said, his heart beating hard in his chest.  
  
“It’s been shared loads of places and people are talking about it, and even if I deleted it people have made copies...” Dan had never seen Jones scared before. It was strange. It didn’t suit him at all. He looked small and vulnerable. “Dan, I really am sorry, I know I fucked up. I get it if you wanna break up with me, but I only did it to try and help.”  
  
“I didn’t want your help!” he shouted. Everything else he’d said was too confusing, and he pushed it to one side to deal with what seemed most pressing. “It’s my life, Jones, you don’t get to meddle with it whenever you want.”  
  
“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think. It was just… it was a really beautiful piece, and I just wanted you to be able to share it.”  
  
“You betrayed my trust,” he said, then felt melodramatic and stupid, even though it was true.  
  
Jones’ face crumpled. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know. Do you want… I can get you an early ticket back if you want.”

Dan startled. “What?”  
  
Jones’ eyes were bright, like he might be about to cry but he balled his hands into fists instead. “I can get you a flight home if you don’t want to be here. I can look for other flats before I’m back, so you don’t need to see me.”  
  
“Are you…” Dan started, confused and suddenly terrified. “Are you breaking up with me?”  
  
Jones blinked furiously for a moment. “What?” he said. “No! Aren’t you breaking up with me?”  
  
Dan let out a long breath, feeling tired and old suddenly. “I’m going to bed,” he said.  
  
Jones sagged but nodded his head.  
  
“Are you coming?” Dan asked when the other man didn’t move from where he’d frozen.  
  
“Oh,” Jones said, his voice small. “Okay.”  
  
Dan peeled off his clothes and slipped into bed, Jones following behind him. He reached out and pulled the other man close, absurdly feeling better the moment they were pressed together. It shouldn’t have helped to have the person that had caused him so much pain close, but it did. Jones’ arms wrapped themselves tightly around him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Dan’s chest. “I’ll never do something like that again.”  
  
“Okay,” Dan said, believing him and not wanting to talk about it ever again.  
  
They were silent. “Tomorrow you’re going to explain what you meant about it going viral,” he said. “But I need not to think for a few hours now.”  
  
Jones lifted his head from his chest, he searched Dan’s face for a moment before nodding. He moved to lie on top of him and kiss him soundly. Dan wrapped his arms around him and kissed him back. He wanted to hold onto the anger, it was familiar and safe, but with Jones so close, kissing a gentle path down the side of his neck, it was hard.  
  
Jones was careful as he reached over to the side of the bed, pulling out a foil wrapper and some lube. He handed them to Dan, but he shook his head. He didn’t want to think, he just needed Jones to help him get out of his head. There was a look of surprise on Jones’ face for a moment before he ducked his head and moved down Dan’s body.  
  
Dan closed his eyes when Jones took his cock in his mouth and let out a long sigh. The wet heat felt so good that his hips bucked slightly before he could stop them. Jones placed his hands on Dan’s hips in response, pinning him to the bed, but didn’t pull back. Dan lost himself to the feeling, it was so good that he didn’t realise Jones had released his hips until a slick finger slipped inside of him.  
  
“Fuck,” he panted. He still wasn’t used to the feeling. It had only been a few times, Jones seemed to prefer it when Dan fucked him. But the sensation still surprised him, the way the stretch of it burned but in the best way. He shifted, bringing his knees up to give Jones better access.  
  
Jones didn’t leave off the soft suction on his cock, as he worked his finger in and out of Dan, before adding a second. It was almost overwhelming and Dan tensed against the intrusion. Jones’ reached his free hand up to run a soothing pattern over his stomach, making him relax again. He reached out to grab handful of the bed sheets as Jones worked his fingers apart, pulling them out and pushing them back in.  
  
“Jones,” he hissed, when he moved his fingers to brush against his prostate. “Yes, there. Fuck, I’m close.”  
  
Jones pulled off him immediately, with a grin, but kept moving his fingers in slow circles, brushing the same spot over and over. Dan screwed his eyes shut and tried not to moan and writhe too much like a pornstar. By the time there was a third finger inside of him, he’d lost the ability to form any words, instead thrusting down onto Jones fingers and panting hard.  
  
He opened his eyes when Jones pulled out and started to fumble with the condom. Dan made a mental note to talk to him about getting tested. He reached out to grab the lube and poured some onto his hand. He coated Jones straining dick, now safely inside the condom, and pulled at his hand, bringing him closer. They kissed, hot a sloppy, for a long moment before Jones grabbed a pillow for under Dan’s hips and positioned his leg over Jones’ shoulder.  
  
“Okay?” he asked, and waited for Dan to nod before he pressed forward.  
  
It burned, despite all the prep and Dan feeling like he was ready to come from the slightest touch. He hissed and gritted his teeth. Jones looked down at him.  
  
“It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’ve got you.”  
  
Dan closed his eyes and tried to relax, waiting for the burn and stretch to ease back into pleasure. Jones kissed his forehead when he bottomed out and stilled there. He reached between them and took Dan’s cock in his hand, moving it in slow strokes. Dan’s hips thrust up into the movement and he slowly relaxed around Jones until he was able to pull almost all the way out and push back in slowly.  
  
“Yes,” Dan said. He felt full and so completely encompassed by the feeling that he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “Feels so good.”  
  
Jones started to move with more confidence, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in. He shifted around until he found the right angle to hit Dan’s prostate.  
  
“Fuck,” Jones hissed, as Dan clenched around him as a wave of pleasure rolled over him. “So good, you feel so good, Dan.”  
  
“I love you,” Dan panted into Jones’ mouth as the other man took his hand and started to work his cock.  
  
Jones’ eyes flew open to meet Dan’s, his movements stilling as he stared at him in shock. It was probably the worst time to have said it, after a fight, when everything was about to change again. But he didn’t want to keep the words in any more. They’d been building between them since they went to Berlin, maybe before, since Jones had drawn over Nathan’s signature. There was a moment were Dan considered closing his eyes, looking away and pretending not to have meant to have said it. But in the end he found he didn't want to.  
  
“Fuck,” Jones hissed, when the realisation seemed to hit him that Dan wasn’t about to take it back. His hips started to move again. “Fuck, Dan, I love you.”  
  
Dan’s reached out, scrambling to pull Jones’ closer. “Please,” he whispered, not sure what he was asking for but feeling desperate.  
  
Jones kissed him hard and started to move his hips harder, fucking him hard into the mattress. Dan could do nothing but hold on and moan. He could feel his orgasm buidling slowly from the pit of his stomach, spreading out in warm waves down to his toes. He gasped as he came, splashing over Jones’ hand.  
  
“Dan,” Jones groaned low and then he was coming too. He stilled, deep inside Dan as he pulsed, his arms shaking from the effort of not collapsing on top of him.  
  
Dan surged up to kiss him hard, not sure what was going to happen once it was over, but feeling exposed and terrified. There was no going back from what he’d said. It was far too late for that.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered, when Jones pulled back, before he could realise that it was a stupid and embarrassing things to say.  
  
Jones blinked down at him, sweaty fringe hanging in his eyes and then he smiled. It was beautiful. “You’re…” Jones started and trailed off. He looked amazed and surprised, at what Dan had no idea. “I…” he started and swallowed heavily, “I love you.”  
  
Dan nodded and then realised with absolute horror that his eyes were starting to water. He closed them tightly and arched to kiss Jones hard. When they pulled back, Jones disappeared briefly before returning with a cloth to clean them both up. He then tucked himself into Dan’s side.  
  
“I don’t want to go back,” Dan said into the silence. “I don’t want that life again.”  
  
Jones didn’t say anything but his arms tightened around his waist. They didn’t talk again, but Jones held Dan tightly until they drifted off to sleep  
  
\-----  
  
It was two days before they needed to go back to London. Dan’s mood was dipping with every day. Jones hadn’t mentioned London since the last time Dan had snapped angrily at him. It was like a dark cloud hanging over them. He wasn’t sure what London would mean, other than being within walking distance of Nathan. But the very idea of it, of his whole life before, made him feel angry and then anxious in a continuous, endless loop. He hadn’t written anything since Jones had posted the article.  
  
Jones had explained that there had been a huge, almost instantaneous, reaction to it when it was posted. Apparently people had noticed that he’d created a blog and were waiting for him to publish something. His article was still being shared widely over a week later, and there was an overwhelming number of comments on the original post. Dan couldn’t bare to read them. He wasn’t sure if the ones calling him brave or a terrible person were worse.  
  
His phone rang shrilly in his pocket and he fished it out carefully. Twat flashed at him from the screen. It was the first time Nathan had tried to call since the article went live and curiosity alone made him answer it.  
  
“Dan,” Nathan said, his voice as chipper as Dan had ever heard it. “Thanks for the article, you fucktard. It’s fucking lit as hell.”  
  
“What?” He looked over to where Jones was dancing to a tune that only he seemed to be able to hear on the other side of the room.  
  
“Your blog, cuntchop,” he said. “The outrage at what’s happening over here’s just want we needed to big us up. You know how to work the people up into a frenzy.”  
  
“What are you talking about, you illiterate cretin?” He could already feel anger making his chest tight.  
  
“Ah, you’re hilarious, Dan,” Nathan said. “We’ll miss you at Trashbat, but you’ve more than fulfilled your end of the bargain.”  
  
“What?” Dan said, slowly. “You’re letting me go?”  
  
“Parting of ways,” Nathan said. “It’s what the people wanted, and we’ve got more traffic and viewers than we know what to do with anyway. You can even keep the laptop.”  
  
“Oh,” Dan said. Surely this couldn’t be happening. His desperate plan couldn’t have actually worked. That just didn’t happen to him.  
  
“What about the camera?” he asked, hating to bring it up but also dreading the idea that Nathan would remember and Dan wouldn’t actually be free after all.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I got that covered. Genius move, by the way, giving it to Mangey Mike.”  
  
“What are you on?” Jones had stopped moving, apparently alerted by Dan’s angry tone. He looked across the room and Jones raised his eyebrows pulling an exaggerated grimace.  
  
“You checked out the show recently?” Nathan asked.

“I’d rather bleach my eyeballs,” Dan said honestly. He was thankful that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.  
  
“Nice one, might call my new segment that. The last show’s up on the website, you should check it,” Nathan said. “Anyway, gotta get going, Danny boy, this money won’t make itself.”  
  
Dan hung up slowly. There was a long silence. “That was Nathan,” he said slowly and probably unnecessarily.  
  
Jones stared at him until it became clear that he wasn’t going to speak. “And?”  
  
“He fired me,” he said, the realisation hitting him as he said the words aloud.

When he’d written the article it had been in part because Jones suggested that the bad publicity would make Nathan change his mind. But, by the time it was done, it had become about much more than that. It was a way for Dan to show his scars, to start owning up to his own mistakes and wrong-doings. He didn’t want to distance himself from what had happened, but he did want people to understand it. To see what was actually happening to the media. He hadn’t really expected it to make a difference, certainly not to his own life.  
  
“No way!” Jones said, his smile huge, breaking Dan out of his surprised stupor. “Did that fuckwit actually do something right for once?”  
  
Dan couldn’t help the little smile at the words. Jones’ hatred of Nathan never failed to warm his heart. “I don’t know,” he said, standing up to grab his laptop and opening it.  
  
Jones came to stand over his shoulder as he loaded Trashbat’s new website. It looked different, clearly there’d been some investment, but it was still as obnoxious as ever. He searched the page for the a moment before seeing a video and clicking on it.  
  
They frowned for a moment before realising what they were seeing. It was a homeless man, Dan thought he recognised him from around their flat. He was ranting into the camera about the people passing by him. It was just vaguely coherent nonsense about rich bastards and their stupid clothes. They watched in confused, horrified silence until the screen went black.  
  
“That was Hobo Street Poet,” Nathan’s smug face said when it appeared on the screen. “Mega.”  
  
“Looks like you’ve been replaced,” Jones said, slowly.  
  
Dan shut the laptop firmly. “It’s exploitation,” he said, feeling sick. “I gave him my jacket and bag. The camera was in there. It’s my fault that Nathan’s making money off him.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jones said, his face grim. “But at least he’s getting fed and you’re not part of it anymore.”  
  
Dan blinked at the thought. It didn’t seem real. Nathan had lost. Only he’d apparently also won. He didn’t know how to feel about that. “I need to do something,” he said. “I can’t let him just-”  
  
Jones reached out and touched his shoulder. “Why don’t you write about it, when you’re back. Maybe you could even talk to him.”  
  
It was the most ridiculously inadequate response possible. He sagged. “Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe I could write about who he really is, show people that there’s a real person under there that they can’t just… laugh at.”  
  
Jones smiled at him. “Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to his head. “That sounds like a good idea.”  
  
Dan sat motionless for a long time, staring at the closed laptop. He’d not considered the ramifications of him being able to jump off the wheel of churning out crap. He hadn’t thought about the fact he’d easily be replaced and what might happen to the person that did it, that they might be more vulnerable than he was.  
  
It made him want a drink.  
  
“We should go out tonight,” Jones said, as though reading his mind. “Celebrate you getting fired. Besides, I need one good night out with you where you don’t get beaten up or kiss someone else.”  
  
Dan cringed. “That’s how I spend all my nights out though. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if something terrible didn’t happen.” Besides, it didn’t feel right, celebrating that someone else was now being shat on.  
  
“We can fuck in the toilets to keep it interesting,” Jones said with all the seriousness of someone negotiating a hostage situation.  
  
Dan half smiled but couldn’t bring himself to actually agree.  
  
“Dan,” Jones said. “I get it. It sucks that that prick’s still in business. But, we can’t do anything about it tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, but right now you deserve to be happy. One night and then we’ll mope about until we figure something out.”  
  
Dan glared across the kitchen. “I don’t mope,” he said.  
  
Jones grinned at him. “Brood artistically?” Dan sighed, probably proving his point. “Look, if you come out with me and try to have a good time, I will make sure we find a way to bring him down. Even if it takes years. But this is the first step. You’re away from him and now maybe we can think better about what to do. This is a good thing. Try and act like it for one night.”  
  
“What do I get out of it?” he said, turning to face Jones who rolled his eyes.  
  
“Did you not hear the fucking me in the toilets part of the plan?”  
  
Dan did smile at that. “I thought that was for you,” he said. “You’re the one always going on about doing it outdoors. I think you might secretly be into dogging.”  
  
“Well,” Jones said with an exaggerated wink, “nothing like the danger of maybe being caught to spice things up.”  
  
Dan threw the nearest food stuff at him, which happened to be a satsuma, but Jones dodged it easily.

——-  
  
They went out, to somewhere that wasn’t Jones’ club at his insistence. It was a strange night. Jones drunk copious cocktails and danced in way that Dan had never seen a human move before. Dan tried to keep pace with him, but was reluctant to really let go. He was too aware that there was every chance for him to fuck up massively.  
  
It occurred to him, as they made their way toward the club, that he’d never been out with any of his exes like this. Just for the sake of a night out together. He’d been on dates - mostly excruciating - but never just to a club to get drunk together. The thought was embarrassing and worrying.

He also wasn’t sure what Jones wanted from him or how he ought to act. Was he meant to be holding Jones’ hand and dancing like the other couples he could see? Jones didn’t give him any clues, so he tried his best to drink through it and look like he was having a good time.  
  
Nothing remarkable happened, which in itself was a remarkable experience for Dan. They danced, chatted and then staggered home, picking up some truly terrible fried food on the way. Dan stared at the ceiling as Jones drifted off to sleep next to him, pondering the night. Maybe this was what normal relationships were like. It wasn’t actually awful.  
  
\-----  
  
Claire rung the next day. She’d called a few times early on, but he’d ignored her, texting her back her hours later to say he was fine. She’d stopped calling, but they’d text occasionally instead. He took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “Hi,” he said, feeling uncertain.  
  
“I read the article.” He couldn’t detect any emotion in her voice, so he didn’t say anything in response, instead holding himself still. He could count the number of people whose opinion he cared about on one hand. Claire was one of them and he didn’t know what he’d do if she’d hated it. The silence stretched on. “It’s beautiful Dan, I’m proud of you.”  
  
He let out a slow breath. But a wave of embarrassment followed quickly on the heels of the relief. “Shut up,” he said, covering his eyes with one hand.  
  
She laughed, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d made her do that. “I got a new job,” she said. “It was a bit awkward working for someone that wanted to sue my brother.”  
  
“Good,” he said with feeling. “That mean you can move out too?”  
  
“Yes, Dan,” she said, that familiar note of frustration creeping back into her voice. There was another long pause. “This is where you’re meant to ask what the job is.”  
  
“What’s the job?” he repeated dutifully.  
  
“Researcher for a little production company that makes documentaries. They saw what I was doing on Trashbat and liked it.” He could hear the note of pride in her voice and smiled.  
  
“I’m glad; you deserve it.” It felt easier talking like this, without the weight of shame hanging over both of them. He let out another breath, feeling tension ease from his shoulders.  
  
“What about you? How’s things going over there?” she asked.  
  
“It’s… it’s okay,” Dan said slowly. How could he possibly describe the last couple of months? It would take days. “I got that blog and I started writing, so it’s… It’s fine.”  
  
Claire laughed softly. “Don’t over sell it, Dan, everyone will want to go.”  
  
He smiled. “Yeah, well, I don’t need an influx of idiots appearing. But, it’s okay. The flat’s better than the one in London and I can’t understand what anyone’s saying, which is probably for the best.”  
  
“Sounds like your heaven,” she said. “And how’s Jones?”  
  
He froze. “He’s good, yeah. We’re erm…” he started, feeling adrift but suddenly certain he wasn’t going to lie. “We’re fucking now, which is… different.”  
  
There was a long silence. Perhaps because there were more delicate ways to break the news to family members. “Oh,” she said. “Is that… Are you… Congratulations?”  
  
An unexpected laugh bubbled up from his chest. He hadn’t thought about all the opportunities this thing with Jones would have to make other people uncomfortable. It might be enough to get him through having to come out. “Thanks, sis,” he said. “It’s… he’s….” He ran out of words, but his smile didn’t want to disappear.  
  
“Well,” Claire said, clearly having recovered from the shock. “You’ve always been terrible with women, so this is probably a good move for you.”  
  
He laughed again. It was probably a record for conversations with Claire over the last two or three years. “Thanks,” he said. Jones appeared in the doorway from the bedroom, looking sleepy and soft. “He’s just woken up actually, so I should probably go.”  
  
“Oh my God,” she said, suddenly the amusement was clear in her voice. “You have a boyfriend!”  
  
“Shut up, you little brat,” he said, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. Jones raised his eyebrows at him but he waved him off.  
  
“Tell him I said hi,” she said. “And make sure you apologise.”  
  
“For what?” he said, frowning.  
  
“I don’t know, whatever stupid thing you’ve done most recently.” She was clearly having the time of her life. Dan wanted to feel annoyed about it, but he couldn’t. It was too nice to have a conversation that didn’t end with her feeling disappointed in and angry with him.  
  
“Are you giving me relationship advice?” he asked. “How many boyfriends have you had again?”  
  
“Haha,” she said. “Look, I better get going, I’m on my lunch break, I just wanted to call and say well done and… I miss you.”  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll be home soon, so we can get a coffee or something then.”  
  
“Alright, love you big bro,” she said and then she was gone.  
  
Dan stared at the blank screen of his phone for a long time. Claire’s seemingly unending ability to forgive and see the best in him never ceased to amaze him. It also made him feel anxious and a bit trapped. He took a deep breath and tried to let it go.  
  
“Was that Claire?” Jones said, making him jump.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, looking up from the phone and tucking it back in his pocket.  
  
Jones was looking at him strangely. “Did you… Were you talking about us?”  
  
Dan’s stomach dropped. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might be polite to ask Jones before he started telling people about them. He briefly considered lying, but realised that he hadn’t thought to school his face properly first. “Yeah, I told her we’re ah… together. Is that… okay?”  
  
Jones stared at him with wide, surprised eyes for a long moment. Then he grinned hugely, his whole face lighting up. “Yeah,” he said, “here was me thinking that I’d have to be your dirty little secret for at least a year before you’d tell anyone.”  
  
There was an insult in there somewhere, but he probably deserved whatever it was. Besides, it was hard to mind when Jones was smiling so prettily. “With the amount of sex we’re having, I don’t think you’d have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out something was going on.”  
  
Jones giggled. “You stud,” he said. He looked at Dan for a moment before taking a deep breath, his face turning serious, almost worried. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what you said about not wanting to go back.”  
  
Dan froze, he hadn’t seen Jones look that serious before. His heart started to beat fast, anxiety clawing at his chest. Was Jones about to break up with him? After he just came out to his sister? He swallowed and tried to think of something to say. 

Jones didn’t seem to notice Dan’s panic as he continued, his eyes trained on his mug of tea. “The thing is, this place was basically free, and I’ve been stashing most of what the club gave me away.” Jones’ eyes flicked up to Dan and away again. “It’s not much, but reckon I have enough for a deposit for us to get a new flat, like a real one that we always have to pay rent for and have a landlord we can bug to fix the heating.”  
  
Dan blinked rapidly at him, trying to understand what he was saying. “What?” he said, after he failed to do so for several moments. He didn’t know much about the situation with the London flat. He gave Jones’ money (most months) and the electric came on and bailiffs hardly ever stopped by. He’d never signed a contract or anything like one. He’d always sort of assumed that Jones either owned it or was subletting from someone else. “Jones,” he said, “I didn’t… You want us to get a flat?”  
  
“I don’t want to go back to how it was before we came here, either,” Jones said. He looked uncomfortable, but there was that steel behind his eyes that Dan was getting used to seeing now. “In London, it was like… I don’t know, we didn’t really exist, you know? We were just there, not doing anything. But since we got here, this feels like…”  
  
“A life,” Dan said, feeling vulnerable and confused. He knew what Jones meant, he felt it down to his bones, but he’d had no idea Jones felt anything similar. He’d seemed so happy in London.

Jones smiled and met Dan’s eyes for the first time. “Yeah,” he agreed. “A life. I been asking around, and I think I can get some steady pay for once and if we club together, we could get a flat.”  
  
Dan had no idea how he was going to make any money. He’d had a couple of offers to publish his article in some real newspapers and magazines that didn’t make him break out in hives at the thought of appearing in. Maybe if he was careful with the money, and didn’t give Nathan back a penny of what he’d already been paid, it would be enough to tide him over until he figured something out. Perhaps having actual rent to make would force him into action. “What about the flat?” he asked. He looked down at his hands before continuing, the words coming out more like an embarrassed whisper than he was comfortable with. “I don’t want to go back there.”  
  
He just shrugged. “It’s just a sublet. I don’t even know if the guy I got it off cares anyway, it’s been years and years. So, it’s not like we need to give notice - I can find someone else to move in easy. Maybe that poor sap Nathan’s tricked into replacing you could stay there until we can help him out.”

It sounded amazing. Too good. Too sudden. Dan felt caught between relieved and terrified. He looked up, searching Jones’ face for some hint that he was just humouring him, hiding his own feelings again. “But, you’ve been there for years. It’s The House of Jones.”

Jones gave a little smile before it flickered and went out. He looked back down at his mug of tea and started to fidget with it again, looking agitated. “I just,” he sighed and played with his hair. “I know I don’t talk about growing up much, but it was…” He shrugged and made brief eye contact before looking away again. He turned the mug around and around as he shifted from foot to foot. “I just… That flat was always meant to be temporary. Like, it’s a shithole. I know that. But it never mattered because… I guess I always thought I’d be dead by now. But I ain’t and I dont think I’m going to be anytime soon. Maybe it’s time that I start building something instead of going around like I don’t even exist other than through my tunes.”  
  
Dan felt like he’d missed a step going down the stairs. He’d had no idea how bad Jones had it growing up, other than it wasn’t ideal. He felt sick with fear at the thought that something might have happened to him. He swallowed. He instinctively knew that asking about it wasn’t going to get him anywhere now, but he filed the information away for future.

He couldn’t stop staring at him. The realisation washed over him of how little he actually knew about him. He’d barely started to know who he was. He was in love with someone he’d hardly scratched the surface of getting to know. The thought was terrifying and elevating. Because he desperately wanted to know him, to know every last part of him. To find all his scars and what had put them there. He smiled.  
  
He tried to think of something to say. He didn’t want to discourage him. “Perhaps Claire would let us stay with her until we can find somewhere,” he mused in the end. She’d pretend to be annoyed, but would say yes if it meant Dan was making a sensible, grown-up decision about his life.  
  
Jones let out an audible sigh, stilling from his fidgeting and looking up at Dan. “So you’re in? You wanna find somewhere else to live?”  
  
Dan smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s give this real life thing a go. It sounds awful.”  
  
Jones laughed, looking relieved and happy. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll need to buy crockery and shit. But, we can also make sure to fuck in every room so when people come over, they never know where’s safe to sit.”  
  
Dan didn’t mind that idea at all. He slid off the stool and sealed the idea with a kiss.  
  
\-----  
  
He was sitting at the kitchen table of their new flat months later when it happened. He looked up from his laptop and noticed that a shaft of light was falling from the window across the room. He could make out the dust dancing as it fell through the beam of early morning light.

It was pretty, he realised slowly, like the thought had been forming slowly for days or maybe years. He liked the way it looked, the way the light was falling through the room, that he could see Jones’ boots cast aside by the door. He wondered when the last time he’d felt something like that, that at ease, was. Perhaps it was how other people felt all the time. But to Dan it felt as seismic as any event in his life. He was happy. Not blissfully ecstatic. But gently, warmly, happy.  
  
He sat, drinking his coffee slowly, waiting for Jones to wake up and tried to let the feeling seep into his bones. He smiled.  
  
——  
  
Nothing much changed. Things don’t really, Dan realised slowly. There was no revelation where he woke up one day healed and whole. But he and Jones found a tiny flat as far away from Nathan as they could get, without meaning Jones had to travel forever to play decent clubs. It was too small but there was natural light. They argued over the cleaning and how to decorate but that didn’t seem to matter as much when the making up was so good.  
  
Dan continued to write every day. Mostly it was garbage that made him want to smash his computer rather than let anyone see it. But he wrote anyway. The first time he sent a pitch to a commissioning editor he felt sick and like he was begging. But, his article was still being talked about and his name was actually one people wanted to hear more from. He got a few things published in not-terrible places and after that it wasn’t so hard any more.  
  
Someone had even suggested he turn _The Death of Dan Ashcroft_ into a TV script or a book. People were offering him real money for it. He was thinking about it. The idea didn’t fill him with terrified anxiety like it might have before. But he didn’t want to rush into anything that might disturb his equilibrium. Besides, there didn’t seem to be any rush.  
  
Jones started working with kids from his old estate, talking to them about music and what happened after they got out of the estates they were currently trapped in. He seemed happy with that and playing his tunes at some of the less awful clubs around London.  
  
It wasn’t perfect. Dan drank too much and Jones avoided talking about anything that upset him. They argued and slammed doors. But they laughed too. Dan slowly, painfully, learned to hold on better to those moments, like when Jones would giggle at one of his jokes, rendered almost helpless with laughter, head ducked and hand over his mouth. He held those moments close to himself, pulled them out when the night didn’t want to end and his hands itched for a drink or something stronger.  
  
It wasn’t a grand life, really. It was small and mostly peaceful. Dan learned to love it.  
  
**The end**


End file.
